


Protector

by GingerFrenchie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Fanart, Fluff and Smut, Graphic Description, Happens after season 7 finale, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, POV Multiple, Power Play, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-01-04 22:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 140,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12178050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerFrenchie/pseuds/GingerFrenchie
Summary: Westeros is getting prepared for the biggest war in history. But before the world enters the age of death and cold, Arya encounters a man she thought she would never see again. How far will they go to keep the other safe?





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after season 7 finale (and a little bit during).  
> There is a slight twist: The Stark cubs kill Littlefinger before Samwell Tarly arrives at Winterfell with Gilly and little Sam, and Arya also leaves shortly before he arrives (and comes back, don't worry, read the fic ;) )  
> This fanfiction is based on the show but also has references to the books (but you'll still be able to understand if you didn't read them.)  
> This work does content smut, and the main ship is Jaqen and Arya (about the age gap, Arya is 17 in season 7 and Jaqen is in his 20s in the books so it's fine to me), but it will also include other couples.  
> I apologize if there are any mistakes of spelling or grammar, English is not my first language. This is also my first time ever writing anything (in English and in general), so feel free to comment whatever could help me improve :)

She had decided to go and meet him at White Harber, so she went and traveled with the soldiers who were supposed to meet him there. It had been so long, she couldn't wait anymore. Last time she had seen him was an eternity ago, he was only a boy of six and ten dreaming about the Night's Watch. But he was a King now.

She arrived a few days before his boat did.

The guard announced his arrival, as well as the queen's, followed by her many names and titles.  
The guard's speech was interrupted by a loud cry, high up in the sky, and then suddenly two dragons were flying over the castle. Her mouth fell open at the sight of the marvellous and gigantic creatures. She knew that dragons had returned with the rise of the silver haired queen, but seeing them for real made her stomach flutter. They truly were impressive, and she could not wait until she would see one of them breathe fire.

_How dangerous would you look, riding one of those._

But then the door opened, and suddenly, the mythical beasts didn't exist anymore.  
She could not remember ever being so nervous than when he passed the gates, he did not know she was there.  
She saw his face first, and their eyes met. He now looked like a fully grown man, like the King in the North he was. For a moment they just stood there, far away from each other, trying to realize that the situation was real, that they were truly both reunited and safe.  
She felt a tear run down her cheek, but didn't wipe it off.  
They both asked themselves if they were not dreaming.

People around her started whispering things she could not understand, and she didn't care.  
He made a few steps towards her, and she found herself unable to move.

_He is here. Jon is here._

She saw him smile, and started running in his direction.  
They locked each other in the tightest embrace, and for a moment the world stopped, and everything looked unreal. The cold air freezing her cheeks didn't exist anymore, the people around disappeared, she realized that her feet were no longer on the ground.

“I've missed you, little sister.”  
“I've missed you too, big brother.”

Her smile was so big that her cheeks actually started aching. He put her down to the floor again, and their gazes locked. For long seconds, they just examined each other's features, mentally noted what had changed and what had not. They had grown a lot, he was a man, she was a woman. But that sparkle of life in their eyes had not disappeared.

  
He pointed at Needle.

  
“You still have it.”

  
“You offered it to me, it's the most precious thing I own.”

For once, she did not care about how ridiculous she may sound, the only thing that mattered was his presence.

Her look traveled to the dragon queen who was quite far, greeting soldiers, and Arya mentally noted that the rumors of her beauty were far from exaggerated. She was indeed the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, with her heart shaped face, plumped lips, big purple eyes. She was averagely tall, and her curves and generous chest could be guessed, even under the many layers of expensive leather and furrs. She also looked fierce but innocent, a look that surely took the hearts of many men and women before. She had something almost… magical to her looks, like she did not belong in this world.

  
It made her think about her own appearance, her long face, her short strands of chestnut hair, her small and skinny frame.

_Has anyone ever looked at me the way all people seem to look at her?_

She tried to convince herself that she did not care, but deep inside, she kind of did. Was it her womanly pride? Arya did not know.

 _Hot Pie, Hot Pie once said I was pretty_ , she thought before cursing herself for how ridiculous she sounded.

 _Hot Pie, what an achievement_  
_Doesn't matter, if my face is not pretty enough, I can still put on another._  
_But it won't be Arya Stark_ , a little voice in her head answered.  
_Doesn't matter_

They all headed to the great hall. She didn't know all the people he had come with, but she saw the Hound from a far, slightly nodding at her in what looked like pride.

_He's alive too. Damn, he's tough to kill._

They all took their places in the great hall, her brother pulled a chair and invited her to sit at the great table next to him, the dragon queen at their side, and all the others on either side of the room.

“Ar...M'lady.”

_Gendry_

There was a moment of silence, and she spoke.

“You're still alive”, she said coldly.

She had not forgotten the way he had hurt her when he decided to leave her for the NIght's Watch. He had changed too, she noticed. There was this look in his eyes, arrogance, something new on his face.

An old man patted his shoulder, quickly urged him to sit down.

“Let me do the introductions”, the old man said.

He said he was Ser Davos Seaworth, the onion knight of Flea Bottom, and introduced Gendry as the bastard of Robert Baratheon.

"And you must be the Lady Arya? Now Gendry, leave her alone, we've got more important matters to discuss.", the Knight said before slightly bowing his head.

_That's why the witch wanted him. Because he's the son of a king._

Arya had heard stories of what blood magic was able to do, back in Braavos, when she was a blind beggar listening to what people around her mumbled and chatted about. She had also heard stories in taverns when she got back to Westeros, different versions of the same story, told by soldiers. All of the versions included a red-haired witch burning a Baratheon heir.

_Well, apparently she decided not to burn that one._

She didn't know what to feel about him being here, but something in his attitude had changed.  
It was quite strange for her to picture the fat king being his father. True, that his raven locks and blue eyes were quite similar, but the fat King wore his name just fine, and Gendry's body was quite lean, although the the Usurper was said to be quite good-looking in his youth.  
But Gendry had in no way the allure her bastard brother had. He had this kind of new, arrogant expression he did not have berfore, and he inspired no respect, unlike Jon.  
No, he did not look like the son of a king.

 

They spent two days in the little castle, and Jon freed some of his time to hear about her story. Although she did not want to tell him at first, in order not to think about the past anymore, she could not help but telling him that she had traveled with a man named Yoren, who was supposed to bring her home, but was killed before he could. She also told him that she met a man on her way, that this man had killed for her.

When she said these words, Jon looked a bit concerned.

“He killed for you?”, he asked, confused and worried.

  
“Yes, because I had saved his life, along with the lives of both his companions. He said something about stealing three lives to the 'Red God', so he asked me to name three people for him to kill.”, she said shrugging her shoulders.

In all her training to become Faceless, Arya had never heard again of this 'deal'. None of her Masters had asked anyone who had saved someone's life to 'name' someone for them to kill in order to give the stolen life back to the Red God. With time, she figured that maybe Jaqen had done that in order to gain her trust, but she did not understand why he wanted her to trust him in the first place, or why he had wanted her to become faceless.

“And that's all he asked of you? ”

Arya understood Jon's concern immediately.

“Yes, that's all he asked. He told me to come to Braavos, across the narrow sea, in order to become as good of an assassin as he was. After I refused so I could find one of you, we parted and the Hound found me. He wanted to bring me to Robb, then to my aunt Lysa, but he was injured in a fight with Brienne of Tarth, I believe you know her. I left him to die, and I wanted to go to the Wall to meet you, but the only ship I found was heading to Braavos. I found this man again, and he made me enter the House of Black and White as an acolyte in order to become a Faceless assassin. Training was hard, -Jon's expression grew more and more concerned, so she reassured him quickly-, but he never abused me the way you think, Jon. I trained with different people, learned different ways to kill, to fight. I learned how to change my face, I learned how to lie.”

When he had first seen her two days ago, it first hit Jon how Arya's body had changed. She could not be mistaken for a boy anymore, although her hair was as short as his, which made them look like one another in the opposite gender even more than when they were children. Her childhood nicknames “Arya Horseface” or “Arya Underfoot” did not suit her anymore, although he never thought they really did. Her face was now more feminine, and she was I her very own way, a rare beauty. Not like Daenerys, but a winter, northern wolf-bred like, fierce beauty. Although he knew she didn't care about being pretty.

Now that she had told him about her hard training, he noticed her body was more muscular than it used to be, but one would need to watch her fight before in order not to underestimate her. She was still rather small and skinny for her age.

They spent half of the night telling each other about their adventures, and were both glad to notice that even after all these years apart, they did not at all loose their complicity, even after everything they both had to go through.

 

*

“That's bullshit and you know it!”  
“Shut the fuck up! If I tell you to lean down not to take a stroke, you fucking lean down. I'm better than you at this, this is not like the fancy sword dance you learned with your fancy teacher! This is not sword fight, your only weapons are your fists. Look at how small you are! You better escape the shots than give them, it'll keep you out of trouble!”

They had been traveling with the head of the group, they had now set camp for the night. Like every night since they left their little castle in White Harber, she was training with the Hound. They had been traveling for two moon by now, and would reach Winterfell in a few days.

The Hound prepared himself to give another punch.  
Arya escaped it easily by jumping to the side, but he gave her a harsh kick in the back.  
He tried to hit her again, but missed her and she moved quickly in front of him to hit him in the balls with her knee.  
He anticipated and took her head with his giant hands and crashed it against his armored torso. She fell down, back first, to the muddy ground.

“I told you a thousand times you were too small for that!”, he spat out.

  
“Shut up! I was just not quick enough!”, she hissed back.

“We're done for today. You're not listening anymore.”, he said, clearly annoyed.

  
“I can still fight, just remove your armor and we'll be equal!”

“Equal?! Just look at how tiny you are! And you can't stand on your feet anymore!”

  
“That's because you're so damned angry with me you can't hold your strokes!”

“You asked for a fight! 'I haven't had a good fight in weeks' you said!”

The way he imitated her voice made her even more angry, and she jumped back on her feet, ignoring the back pain she had been feeling since they started training a few days ago.

“All this is fucking useless. I'm going to loose all my fighting techniques because you're too damned stubborn.”

  
“I'm better than you, you're the stubborn one not admitting it. And in just a few days you'll be able to fight with your beloved Knight cunt again, you won't loose your fancy sword fighting abilities.”

“Aw, now you're angry because our fancy sword fight is better than your brutal, style-less sword mess!”

  
“Shut our damned mouth. I can beat either one of you anytime.”

“I'd pay good money to see that.” She spat, with an angry smile.

She went away and reached the cave that contained the hot springs where every one had bathed before. She enjoyed bathing, it was the only time of the day she could be alone with her thoughts. Moreover, she had not had a warm bath since they left White Harber. She removed her many layers of clothing, and quickly entered the foaming water. She stretched in the water, although the soreness of riding all day and fighting afterward never seemed to go away, even if she had been careful about stretching after every time they trained.

The hot bath felt good, but the pain remained. She roughly scraped the bar of soap she had on her pale skin, put it away, leaned down and closed her eyes. She thought about her training.

_That Hound is going make me really angry someday if he keeps knocking me to the ground every damned time_

_I'd like to spar with Jon, he seems pretty good, although Brienne is not bad either. The Hound is way too big and stubborn for me to learn anything from a session with him._  
_But the best teacher still remains with Jaqen._

For the first time since she left Braavos, she thought about Jaqen. Not about what he taught her, but about him. Her discussion with Jon had made her wonder. She had never taken the time to think about him, about who he was and what his motives were.

_Why did he offer me those lives? That's not a common thing by the Faceless Men._

She believed very little that it was to gain her trust in order to later transform in a killing machine for a brotherhood, she felt like there was something more. She had never thought about it in this way, back in Braavos, trying to annihilate 'Arya Stark' as well as she could. She used to allow herself to think very little, and the only thing she was able to worry about was how she would get her vengeance.  
But Jaqen… she never truly thought about him. There was a time when she admired him, then came the time during her training when she hated him, despite being aware that everything he was doing was in order to transform her into the person she aspired to be. But why did he not kill her, and why did he allow her to go?

 _And when he sent the Waif to kill me, did he know I would win the fight? How could he know that?_  
_And when we met, how did he know I had the strength to become faceless?_

The more she thought about him, the more this man intrigued her.

_He always wore the face he was in when I first met him around me..._

_If he really wanted me to become No One, and 'Arya Stark' to disappear, why did he do so?_  
_Well, I think we'll never know._

He had always been a confusing man, speaking in riddles and always gazing at her with this mysterious look on his face. Sometimes there was a hint of pride in this look, sometimes a glimpse of surprise. For a brief moment, she missed the way she felt when he was around. Invulnerable, almost...safe.  
She missed his eyes full of mystery, his smirk of satisfaction when she achieved something or when she gave him an unexpected answer, his exotic accent when he used common tongue.  
But she quickly brushed those thoughts away, thinking that they would not lead her anywhere good.

*

During the whole travel, Gendry had tried to look for Arya, go and talk with her. But she would only respond coldly or even ignore his questions and ride alongside the bastard King. Apparently she got used to being called 'my lady', or 'm'lady', in the young smith's case.  
Her constantly annoyed face and his pushing behaviour did not go unnoticed, and Jon felt protective.  
She had recounted him how their paths had parted, and Jon had seen her trouble to keep a straight face, despite all the training she had by the Faceless Men, meaning she was really not about to forget about it. He knew her very well, and could still read in her like in an open book, and he could see what she was thinking whenever she was talking about him.

_Betrayal. It's a wonder he's still in one piece._

Indeed, Jon had also seen how good she was at sparring and fighting, and although he did not know Gendry very well, seeing him trying to hit on his fierce sister always made him inwardly chuckle, knowing what a hard time he was having, actually feeling a little bit of pity for him.  
But his interest in Arya made him wonder if he was really the betrayer she seemed to depict, or if her description was influenced by the situation she was in, a young girl watching her only friend and closest thing to family willingly walk away from her for some red woman not wearing that much red fabric.

He knew that he was a bastard, just like him. He also know that he worked as a smith back in Flea Bottom, and that he was pretty good fighting with a hammer. He never took the time to speak with him, always having more important problems to deal with. But Jon knew that the young lad was stubborn and brave, maybe even too brave to be smart.  
But the way he looked at his sister and clearly tried to get her attention quickly stopped making him chuckle and made him cringe.  
He knew Arya could handle it, he would not insult her and come to her rescue, because Arya was not the kind of girl who needed to be rescued.

_Woman. She is a woman now._

He was riding in front line, his sister only a few feet behind, and he heard a loud laugh. He turned around and saw Gendry snort, riding very close to her, their boots almost touching. She on the other hand, was wearing an utterly bored face.

_Probably laughing at one of his jokes again. Maybe I should go to her rescue, I know she learned how to fight back and deal with poisons, but I doubt that she ever learned how not to die from boredom._

_Well, she's probably thinking about how she could make him shut up for good, that surely is entertaining._

She had spoken very little about her training in Braavos, only stating that she had trained with the Lorathi she met on the way with the men of the Night's Watch, and a few other masters.  
She never even told him about her other masters, but the Lorathi one, he had heard about this one, how he had taught her to lie and fight, how he had helped her in Harrenhal.

_I don't even know his name, she didn't say it._

The way she talked about him, with this little sparkle in her eyes reminded him of how he looked at his silver-haired queen.

_Ugh, no. No way. He's way too old for her, and she sees him as a protector, a teacher. He better not get near her._

_She gave up on him anyway, she left the Faceless Masters._

The realization hit him. This pretty much was the description of Arya's journey during their time apart, either people she cared about giving up on her, and, in the end, she giving up on people she cared about. All these years, she had been alone, there was no one to back her up like he had. She did not have her friends with her for very long, and even had to forget about her identity in order to become some cold-blooded faceless assassin who worships Death.  
He turned around again, and looked at her bored face and empty, tired eyes, a proud smile on his lips.

_She's a tough one._

 

__


	2. Visitor

 

**One moon later**

 

They arrived at Winterfell late in the afternoon, the sun had almost set.

They all gathered in the great Hall, Jon kissing Sansa on the forehead on his way and hugging Bran tight. Arya saw Bran whisper something in Jon's ear, but could not hear what it was. She only saw Jon nod and go back to leading all their guests in the meeting room.

It had only been roughly two moons, but she had missed Winterfell. It was her turn to lock her siblings in a tight embrace. Before she could gather with the others, she felt Sansa's hand tightly grip her arm.

 

“You have a visitor.”

 

She saw her sister's concern in her eyes.

_A visitor? What, Hot Pie came to sell his wolf shaped bread?_

“You'll see him in the cells after the meeting, I need you here.”, she said, a hint of anger and fear in her tone.

 

Who could visit her? Little was the number of people who knew she was alive, and even smaller was the number of people who cared about her enough to actually come and see her, the only family she had left was with her right now, or would sit with them and not be hidden somewhere, especially not in a dark cell.

 

_Maybe Walder Frey's ghost has come to murder all of us, that might be why they put his faceless body in a cell._

The thought made her grin.

 

The meeting went on for what felt like hours. Arya usually liked battle plans, but fighting the dead wasn't as thrilling as the way she was used to take lives, much cleaner than war.

The whites were walking towards Last Hearth, and they all had to quickly find a way to fight them, or at least slow them down before they would reach further south, where Winterfell was.

 

Since Jon was able to approach the dragons quite easily, the dragon queen figured that she would teach him how to ride the smaller one, Rhaeghal.

They decided of the whole plan of attack, starting with the dragons encircling them in some kind of fire Wall, forged by what remained of Wildfire in the capital and Dragonfire. It would need to be alight any time to prevent the Whites from passing. Then, the Unsullied and Cersei's Army would take care of every White Walker or White that would be on their way. Then the Northerners would reduce the fire circle's size so that the remaining whites would all burn.

 

The only problem was the ice dragon. The Maesters gathered and discussed for days but could not surely enough determine what it was breathing. Bran said it looked like fire, but that it had a blue hue. He also said that the dragon led by the Night King was much faster that both the ones Daenerys still owned. The blue hue of the fire could be interpreted as hottest fire than red fire, the Maesters said, but were unsure.

 

“It could also be some kind of magical fire, more powerful than anything we know, your graces.”

“This dragon needs to be taken care of first, he is our only concern, as well as the Night King. If we defeat them, the rest will be easy.”

 

The Hound spoke.

“There's a kind of hierarchy. The more powerful they are, the harder it gets to kill them. Some of them, we can't even kill with Dragonglass, and they don't seem to feel fire, only Valyrian steel seems to destroy them. If the dragon is one of the powerful ones, only a Valyrian steel spar will be able to bring him down.”

 

“We need the Maester who constructed your sister's scorpion, the one that almost got Drogon.”, Daenerys said, looking at Tyrion, who had remained quiet during the whole gathering, only nodding from time to time.

 

“We need every Maester to work on it in order to make in able to throw a Valyrian Steel spar in the air faster than ever, and with as much precision as possible, we only have so little Valyrian steel, and we still need weapons to kill the Night King and his minions afterward.”

 

Ser Davos stood up and added, looking at the most powerful Lords and Highborns in the room.

“We need every great House that owns a Valyrian Steel sword to provide it to the best smith we can find.

\- he quickly threw a look at Gendry, who was apprenticed by a Qohorik master blacksmith, the only smiths known to be able to reforge this sort of steel.-

Maester Samwell, I believe you own a book, describing every Valyrian steel weapon still in this world and their location and owner, am I wrong?”

 

Samwell Tarly answered, with the troubled look he always had on his face.

“Indeed, ser Davos. But I am afraid the book I own was not updated since a very long time, which will make our research a bit more complicated. From what I recall, there must be around two hundred swords, axes and daggers in Westeros alone, one for every ancient House.”

 

“We'll send Ravens to every House we know about tomorrow, my lords, and we'll send our armies if they refuse to cooperate. The meeting is over for the night.”, Jon concluded.

 

The Lords bowed and got out one by one, heading to the chambers they were assigned.

 

Arya noticed that the Imp had been rather quiet. He was hand of the queen, and was expected to take part in the discussion, and be an adviser, but he had only been agreeing with them, all the while wearing a quite remorseful expression, which made Arya feel suspicious of him.

 

Jon followed Bran on his way out, and Sansa made a sign to a few guards to follow her as she took her sister's arm, holding it very tight. Arya did not understand why her sister was looking so enraged and afraid.

 

“Look, they're going to bring you to the cell, but I swear if this happens again, I'll have the next one killed immediately. Arya, we're already in danger with this huge army of the Dead coming upon us, why do you always complicate things?!”

 

She did not even have the time to ask anything, her sister was gone already. A squad of guards, at least ten of them, led her to the basement of Winterfell, where the cells were.

 

_What the hell am I complicating? Why would there be a 'next one'?_

 

_Nymeria came back?_

 

She was indeed dangerous, but if Sansa recognized her, why did she bother locking her in a cell? She knew perfectly that a Direwolf would never hurt a Stark, and Ghost could behave perfectly around other people, so why would she mistrust Arya's Direwolf so much?

 

Five men were guarding the cell her 'visitor' was in. When she approached the door, her escort squad prepared to unsheathe their weapons. She came closer, her hand on Needle's hilt, and could only see a tall and lean hooded figure, wearing winter clothes.

 

_Seven hells. Is it-_

 

“Situation looks familiar, doesn't it, lovely girl?”

 

*

 

**Two moons ago**

 

“We found him on the road, he said he was heading to Winterfell, so we figured we'd take him with us, my Lady.”, Samwell Tarly stated.

“What is your name, my Lord?”, she asked.

The stranger looked at her with this amused grin on his face.

“A man has the honor of being Jaqen H'ghar.”, the man said calmly.

 

His skin was warm, way too tanned for him to be a Northerner. He had red, shoulder length hair, halfway hidden by his hood, and piercing blue eyes (or hazel, Sansa could not quite recall). He did not look like a Dornishman either, but something about his looks was somewhat fascinating.

 

_Don't be fooled by appearances again. He's a stranger._

 

Sansa threw him an interrogating look, frowned at the man's strange manner of speaking.

“This man is from the free city of Lorath, across the narrow sea, it is why he speaks this way, my Lady. It is a form of respect over there.”, Maester Walkon stated.

“Excuse me lord H'ghar, but why has a man from Essos made this long of a journey in order to come to the far, cold North?”, she asked.

 

“A man has come to pledge himself to you, my Lady. He also came to meet again with an old friend, your sister, the Lady Arya.”, he said bowing his head slightly, and his voice was like a deep purr.

 

“I am afraid that she is not here. You know her, my lord?”

 

“Yes, a man has met her before. First in Harenhall, then in Braavos.”

 

Sansa suddenly remembered what her sister had told her about her time in Braavos.

“ _Back in Braavos, when I was training to be a Faceless Man”, Arya said._

_If he was in Braavos with her, there's no doubt that he's a Faceless Man too._

Her heartbeat accelerated.

 

_He's dangerous._

 

She quickly stood up, and surprised the councilmen sitting next to her, but Bran did not move from an inch.

 

“I want him locked in a cell, and I want at least ten guards guarding him. But first make sure he has no weapons on him.” Sansa said harshly, but some fear could clearly be heard in her voice.

 

He was ceased immediately, but did not try to fight back. His expression was still calm, rather pleased even.

 

After making sure that his cell was locked and well guarded, she sent him some more decent clothes than the dirty cape and thin garments he was wearing, and had a chambermaid bring him supper and a set of clean sheets for the modest bed he had.

 

“A man is grateful that you treat him well, Lady Sansa, considering the conditions.”, he said so calmly that it surprised the young lady.

Sansa only nodded, clenching her teeth, and went straight to her brother.

 

She met him, as always, near the Weeping Maple tree, in the Godswood. His eyes were shut, and he looked asleep, a serene expression on his face, just like on the tree's.

 

“Come, Sansa.”

 

He opened his eyes and she smiled at him.

 

“Am I disturbing you?”

“No. Go on, ask.”

“Do you know anything about this man? This man, who pretends that he knows our sister...”

 

“I searched, but I could only see their time in Harrenhall. It looks like he offered to kill for her, and he helped setting her and her friends free when she was in Harrenhal. But something is strange... I tried to see what they did in Braavos, but something is blocking me. The only thing I could see was Arya pointing her sword at him in some strange cave full of the faces she uses to disguise herself. But instead of killing him, what I was expecting her to do, she just left. That is everything I could see about him, I know nothing else. Strangely, it looks like Arya trusted him. I don't really know what to think, Sansa.”

 

“He is locked in a cell with no weapons, we'll wait for Arya to return, along with our brother. I hope she will be there soon, I am not really reassured with him in the castle, even with all the guards.”

 

“That is very wise of you. The soldiers and her left a few weeks ago, I think they won't be here until the next moon.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend of mine did the illustrations and I’m so hyped about them all


	3. Old Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey :) I really hope you like this and that my English or beginner's writing is not too bad.  
> Here comes the 'Explicit' rating, so be prepared ;)  
> And please leave a comment, I really apreciate your feedback :)  
> I'm going to *try really hard to* upload at least every other week, and feedback is very welcome in order for me to improve what I can give you guys :)  
> Love <3

 

“Tell my sister and brothers that everything is fine, you can all leave now.”, she said, her eyes not leaving his frame, with his back turned to her.

The guards obeyed, and she quickly found herself alone with her former master.

 

“Again, a man is locked in a cell, and a girl seems to be the only one able to get him out.”, he said with an infuriatingly serene tone, and Arya was pretty sure she caught a glimpse of satistafction in his voice.

 

_Why the hell is he here_

 

“I want to see your face.”, she spat out.

“The face a man is wearing has no impo-”

“Shut up and show me your face.”, she hissed, angry, but she did not know why she was so enerved.

 

_Well, perhaps because last time we met he sent a psycho after me?_

_'But here your are... and there she is.'  
_ The words resonated in her head.

 

He slowly turned around and put his hood down, revealing his thick, unconventionally red hair, with a white streak on his left side. He was slightly smiling.

For a moment, she was not able to take her eyes off his face, his plumped lips, his mysterious eyes, his exotic looks. His face somehow woke something in her, something new yet extremely familiar, and she did not know how to call it.

She turned her head and looked around him. It was the most comfortable cell she had ever seen.

 

“I bet you're not thirsty. You don't seem to be lacking of anything.”, she spat out.

“A man misses his freedom.”

“Give me one good reason to set you free.”, she asked, raising a brow.

“Hm-”, he purred, satisfied and arrogant, and Arya had to remember to breathe in order not to forget to.

He smiled, he did not expect this answer.

 

_Damn, his smile. Wait, what the-_

 

“A girl lacks gratitude.”

“You had someone try to kill me. You should be the grateful one, you're not dead yet.”

Her fierce mask was on, and she was not about to cede this time.

 

“Ah…, and why is a man not dead, then?”

 

She ignored the question. She did not know the answer herself.

 

_How did he know I would kill her and not the other way around? And did he know really? Had he not, why did he look so proud and placid when I had Needle ready to pierce through his heart?_

The question fused in her head, and those too, she ignored.

 

“This is a very comfortable cell, more comfortable than the quarters we give to the soldiers. How the hell did you convince Sansa to give this much nice stuff?”

 

She waved at the furry blankets, the warm clothes he was wearing, the unfinished meal on the table, which was surely the rests of the meal the Lords had for dinner, much nicer than the food soldiers get, a buffet compared to the grainy soup the prisoners usually get.

 

“A man did not even have to ask, a girl's sister seemed to be quite afraid of him, she probably figured not making a man angry with the service was a good idea. A girl's sister is smart.”, he said smirking in delight, and that gaze almost set her on fire.

 

“You freaked the hell out of her, you really didn't have to tell her you were from Braavos. Now she's angry with me for putting them in danger, and she's totally right to be.”, she hissed bitterly.

 

“A man apologizes, a fight between sisters was really not his intent, nor was putting a girl's family in danger.”

 

She sighed, and her expression changed. She looked sad now.

“Why are you here, Jaqen?”

 

Saying his name out loud felt very strange, and the Lorathi noticed that she was not at ease.

His expression changed too, and he wore a serious face. He got very close, on the other side of the door, looking straight in her eyes. The way he looked at her, she could not quite place how it made her feel. It was a combination of awkwardness and pain, and all her efforts that went into keeping a straight face were vain. She felt her heart beating slightly louder, her cheeks turning ever so slightly pinker.

 

They both stood here staring at each other, and she allowed herself to look at every details of his face. His almond shaped eyes, his square jaw, his plumped lower lip. It had been over a year since she had not seen this face, but she had tried to remember it many, many times. And now it was so close to hers that if she moved a few inches closer, she would be kissi-

_No. Don't think about that._

Before he could say anything, they both heard the sound of footsteps. Light and rapid, heeled shoes.

 

_Sansa._

_And a few guards._

 

She immediately took a step back, and let out the air she did not notice she was holding.

 

She saw her sister regain her usual polite smile as she saw that the both of them were not planning on beheading anyone yet.

 

“I am so very sorry about the treatment that you have received, my Lord. But you must understand that given your… situation, I had to take every precautions I could in order to protect my people. Please, accept the best room we have left, bread, salt and a place at our table as an apology.”

 

“Everything is forgiven already, my Lady. A man assures the Lady of Winterfell that she does not need to fear for the security of her people anymore, at least not because of this man.”

 

He smiled politely back at her and bowed lightly, and she gave the order to set him free, so Arya handed the keys to a guard.

 

“Now, follow us please.”

 

They all left, including all the guards, leading the foreigner to the west wing of Winterfell, right bellow the children's wing where Arya's bedroom was.

She looked at them walking away, and Jaqen caught her staring as he turned his head. He smirked and she quickly looked away, embarrassed.

 

_What the hell is he doing here?_

 

She figured she would think about it while taking a bath. Traveling all day long and spending hours sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair did not help her back pain, and she needed time to think.

 

She headed towards the bath-chambers, and although it was pretty late in the night, the baths were always sustained with warm water coming from a nearby hot spring.

She was completely alone for the first time of the day, and quickly removed her various coats of clothing, and entered the warm water, and let out a sigh of release.

 

She closed her eyes, and thought about what had just happened. Jaqen was here. Not spying on her, not sending people off to kill her, not teaching her in some strange way, he had just traveled here and said he was here for her. It made her afraid at first, but then she realized she was slightly smiling. She had missed him. Something told her that he did not come to reiterate their experience in Braavos, and she was not in the same position than when they met in Harrenhal.

No, she did not need his help. So he did not come here out of duty.

 

Yet, she still kind of needed him, his presence. He was one of the very few people she had ever trusted in her life, a friend. She was in deep need of a friend.

 

_No, that's not true. You have Jon, you have Sansa, Bran. Gendry, for all that's worth. They're good friends, people to talk to, people you can count on. They're more than enough._

 

Maybe she was not that much in need of a friend. But she felt like she could not walk away from him again.

 

_Right, he'd be tough to walk away from with that look on his face._

 

His look, his smile, his eyes.

She imagined him biting his lower lip, and she mimicked what she was thinking about. She imagined his powerful hands run through his long hair, and let out a sigh. She closed her eyes, and remembered how close their faces were, a mere hour ago, and found her own hands starting to rub the sides of her legs.

 

_Gods. No. This is wrong._

 

Maybe it was wrong, but at this precise moment, Arya did not care. She was alone, late, safe and home. No one would ever figure out. But she felt her cheeks blush anyway.

He was no one after all, or at least that was what he said, so it did not matter, right? She did not know if the face he always wore was his true face, but there was no denying that it looked good, and since he was No one, that did nt mean she was attracted to him, but merely to his face, his body, so it could not be that wrong. Or at least that was what she told herself.

She did not really know where to start, and paused for a moment, feeling like she was crossing a line. She was not used to such intimacy with herself, her knowledge of such behavior being very limited. For a very long time, she had not figured out why people seemed to be so deem about sex, her experience of it only being what she had seen in the brothels from Braavos. A big, sweaty, moaning mess that is somehow made out of two people pleasuring each other. But she figured that it would be different if Jaqen was the one pleasuring her.

  _Not Jaqen. His face, his body._

_Whatever  
_

_He'd surely be soft, not like these men who go to whores only to hear them scream._

_But he would also be rough… just like when we train. Pitiless and sexy. That's exactly how he would be._

 

She started caressing the inside of her thighs under the now barely warm water, imagining he was the one doing it. She made up a whole scenery in her head of how he would come and join her right here, right now, how he would tell her that he missed her, purr it right next to her ear before joining her in the bath...

 

Her left hand started to travel further towards her core, as her right hand found itself groping one of her breast. She slowly started rubbing where it made her feel dizzy, closing her eyes and seeing him in her thoughts. As she accelerated her pace, her right hand went downwards. Her slender finger found its way at her entry. She slid the tip in, afraid of the pain that going deeper would bring. It felt very strange. She started going in and out, but could not understand how anyone could find such a feeling 'pleasing'. She did it again, faster this time, and went back in, back out accelerating and slightly curling her finger, and she started to understand. She started to slightly rock her hips, meeting her own thrusts, went in, out, back in, back out… all the while hearing him whispering her name in her head, with his sweet, warm accent and his deep, raspy voice, feeling his lips run on the bare skin of her neck, shoulders.

She needed to open her mouth to breathe, beginning to go slightly crazy, not able to think reasonably anymore.

 

“Jaqen...”

 

The rubbing, the feeling of her finger stretching her inner walls, an imaginary picture of his perfect body right in front of her sent waves of heat through her whole body. She was breathing loudly now, and a strange feeling grew in her stomach.

 

_Stop. STOP. This is weird, you're weird, STOP_

 

She suddenly ceased with all her movements,quietly  panting and blushing.

 

_Hells, what have I just done?_

__


	4. Piece of Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm sorry this chapter is so short, I'm just really bad at dividing them :P 
> 
> Because it is so short, the next one should come sooner (maybe ten days, I'll do my best), and I can already tell that it will be much longer ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and please, leave a comment, it is really important to me to have your feedback <3

It was early in the morning when Jon saw Sansa lecturing some red-head foreign looking man, showing him the training weapons, the wooden shields, and the group of teenagers standing next to them

 He was surely supposed to train in order to make them the White killing army they needed.

 

“It's him.”

 

He turned around quickly, ready to unsheathe Longclaw.

 

“Arya! Don't do that! Don't spawn behind be without a sound, imagine if I had hurt you!

Wait… who's 'him'?”, he asked, confused.

 

Arya was wearing a totally blank face, and had not moved an inch away when he was ready to jump at her in surprise.

 

“My training master.”

 

“Oh, that one.” He said with a smirk.

 

“What do you mean, 'that one'?” she answered, almost aggressively.

 

“Well, you've been talking about this particular one a lot-”

 

“M'lady!”

 

They both saw Gendry run to them, and as he made his way up to the balcony they were standing on, Jon gave Arya a _look,_ and she sighed, clearly annoyed.

 

“Shut up.”, she cut him before he could utter anything that would have exasperated her.

 

He laughed, and by the time he was done teasing her, Gendry was standing next to them, catching his breath.

 

“I've been looking for you all morn- wait… no way!”

 

He advanced on the balcony.

 

“It's the man from Harrenhal! The one who you couldn't shut up about! What's his name again? I remember it's pretty strange. Jaden? No, Jaqar?”

 

“Jaqen H'ghar.” she said coldly.

 

“That's it! I remember you looking for him all day long, asking where he was, telling Hot Pie and me how great and trustful he was. You were quite naive to be honest, blindingly trusting the first thieve who told you you were lovely.”

 

“Wait what? He told you you were lovely?” Jon asked with a grin, obviously trying to piss her off.

 

“That's just how he calls me. And he's not a thieve.”, she answered, her face still perfectly blank and emotionless.

 

“Well, he got in that cage heading to the wall one way or another, and I'm sure he's not so proud about what he did to get there. Don't you remember Yoren telling us he put the three worst in that cage?

Well, he was one of them. I wouldn't trust him if I were you, he's kind of mysterious and weird, I was never able to tell what he really wanted.”

 

She sighed again, and looked down at him. He was explaining the sons of the butcher how to properly hold the bow.

 

“He killed the Tickler, the one torturing everyone, got us out of Harrenhal, and spent the last years training me and offering me a shelter. I am alive because of him, and so are you. You should be grateful instead of raising doubts about him.”, she said in exasperation, and went away.

 

“Well, I'm just sayin' young ones shouldn't hang out too much with him.”

 

He looked at Jon.

 

“Do you know how he got us out? He killed at least ten guards, all by himself, and with no one even noticing. All I'm sayin' is that I wouldn't let anyone be alone with him, especially a woman like your sister, your grace.”

 

“And what is 'a woman like my sister'?”, Jon said, slightly grinning.

 

“You know… a woman… He did nothing to her as a child, but now that she's all grown up… When we were in Harrenhal, he had quite the reputation by the handmaidens, maybe Arya knows how to fight now, but is she so good that she could handle him on her own?”, he asked, badly faking worry.

 

Jon smiled, but was inwardly laughing out. He dared not tell him that he did not feel an ounce of fear for Arya on that point, the main 'danger' being the boy standing in front of him, and in now way the man he was in vain trying to describe as a pervert.

 

“Look, I trust my sister. She is older now, and she has gone through enough to know better than anyone who she should trust. I will look after her, and I will protect her if she finds herself in danger, but I think we both know that Arya is very able of protecting herself, and taking her own decisions.”

 

“But still, you shouldn't let her alone with-”, the young smith insisted.

 

“ Whatever I'll tell her to do, she won't listen to me anyway, she never listens to anyone, she is too stubborn.”

 

He put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

 

“And being pushy never works with her.”, he said with a smile, and left the Baratheon bastard with his deception.

 


	5. Discussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! As promised, here is this week's chapter ;)  
>   
> Any feedback is much appreciated <3

A few days later, Arya had still not spoken to Jaqen. She had spent her entire days training a little group of young town girls, and all her evenings sparring with Brienne of Tarth. She wanted to help her brother in building his army, but teaching was way more difficult than she thought it would be. All she knew about training was what Syrio did with her and the techniques her former masters in Braavos used. Unluckily for her young students, she did not spend a lot of time with Syrio, but she was trying as well as she could to empathize with their difficulties, to put herself in their place, but she could not quite understand why they spent their whole time whining about not achieving their goals instead of training in order to do so. They were like an army of little Sansas. Of little former-Sansas.

 

Yes, teaching really annoyed Arya. She herself was not learning anything new, was not perfecting her own skills, it was very pointless to her. She only did it because she knew Jon needed her to.

 

 _'Be an example to them. You fight with style and efficiency even with your small size, they want to be like you'_ , he had told her.

_No, they want to marry high Lords and spend their whole day doing embroidery or some pointless shit._

 

She was happy to be done with her course of the day, and went to greet her sister who was busy writing letters with the Maesters before rejoining everybody in the great hall for dinner and later, council meeting. Although Jaqen had been invited to their table, he never showed up for supper, he ate with his group of pupils, who were delighted to cook for him. He was a really good teacher, surprisingly, and the young boys he was training adored him.

 

She knocked at her sister's door, and entered the room to summon her.

Despite all of her protestations, Arya did not escape her sister's urge to braid her hair before they would rejoin the others.

 

“This is the way Northern girls wear their hair, it is not only about making you look good, it is about making you look like you belong in this place, Arya. It sends a strong message to our allies.”, she said with her soft, polite voice.

 

She sighed in exasperation.

 

“Make it quick then.”, Arya answered, not trying to hide her annoyance.

 

At least Sansa was the one braiding. She hated feeling the maids' hands all over her head. She never asked for help to dress or bathe, and Sansa's hands were the only hands allowed to come this close to her.

 

_Well, maybe someone else's hands could be this familiar_

 

An image she had made up in her head a few nights before popped up in her head again, and she brushed it away as quickly as she could.

She knew Jaqen would share dinner with them for once. She wondered if he would speak to her, she still did not truly know why he was here. And maybe his presence would keep Gendry away for a while, she hoped.

 

All the while tugging at strands of her short hair, Sansa and Arya usually discussed about their days, or at least when Arya agreed to have her hair braided. It was something new to them, being the 'small-talking' kind of sisters. But as much as she could deny it, Arya was quite fond of these talking sessions with Sansa, it made her feel a proximity with her that she never felt before, and that she never thought she would seek. They usually spoke about the people around the castle, Sansa often asked about her training in Braavos. One night, Sansa had counted her everything that had happened to her during their time apart. Arya had heard her sister's voice crack as she mentioned the drunken men in King's Landing who had ripped her clothes of, and the name of Ramsay Bolton.

 

 _Never again, s_ he had thought.

 

 _Never again am I letting anyone come near you_.

 

But tonight's discussion was about a subject Arya did not at all anticipate.

 

“Arya, I'd like to know about something.”

 

Seeing her sister waiting for her to continue, Sansa went on.

 

“When you told me about your training by the faceless men, you told me about the Waif, the one who was skilled in making potions, but you also told me about your training with this man, Jaqen H'ghar.”

 

She inhaled, and kept going.

 

“All this time you spent alone with him… you became a woman, did he ever… try anything?”

 

Arya smiled. She was very touched by her siblings concern on that subject.

 

_Sweet Sansa_

 

“No, Sansa, never. And you know I wouldn't have let him.”

 

“I know, but you seem to… avoid him. It looks like you trust him but you told me you didn't know why he was here, you haven't even spoken to him since he arrived. You both keep on looking at each other while the other one is not watching.”

 

“What?”, Arya frowned.

 

“The maids noticed it, even some guards and some of your pupils did. I heard them gush about it this afternoon. They know you spent the past years with him at the other end of the world, it's enough for them to start rumors. Just tell me, if nothing happened in Braavos, what was that the other day in the cells? I felt like I was interrupting something.”

 

A brief look of fear flickered on Arya's face.

 

“No you interrupted nothing, he was my master that's all. Now he's my friend.”

 

“Good, you should speak to your friend then, we'd all like to know about his intents, he is still a faceless assassin after all.”

 

She thought for a second, and started having concerns, but she did not let her sister see any of it.

 

“He would not have told us his real name, and he would not be wearing this face if he was on a mission to kill one of us, you don't need to worry about that.”

 

Sansa smiled, and tied the braid in a knot, tight against Arya's scalp, like she knew she preferred it.

 

“Yes, this face. I didn't know Lorathis were so pleasing to the eye.”, she teased her sister.

 

“Sansa!”

 

“What? she asked laughing.

Calm down, there's no one here to hear us. You spent years looking at this face and never noticed how gorgeous it was? I know you went blind for a while, but that's no excuse, little sister.”

 

“I never asked myself if I liked how he looked! All I wanted was becoming an assassin!”

 

“Sure, but you are an assassin now. May I ask why you spent half the day staring at him then?

Surely not to learn how to hold a bow.”, Sansa added, grinning. Her little sister's reaction was very entertaining.

 

“I was not staring. Gods, how long do you need to braid this little hair?!”

 

“Stop moving if you want me to be done quicker. Every time I start again I get to tease you more, so just stay still if you don't want to admit how good he looks.”

 

“Mere minutes ago you were so concerned about his true intents, and now you're trying to get me to compliment him?”

 

Sansa was laughing now, and it exasperated Arya even more.

 

“All I'm trying to do is discuss a man's shape, but your reaction says a lot more, little sister.”

 

“Stop calling me that. Should we discuss you avoiding the Hound, maybe?”

 

Sansa ceased laughing.

 

“I'm not avoiding him, I'm just busy.”

 

“Stop it! You even avoid his gaze, and you haven't been talking to him either.”

Arya remembered what he once told her about her 'pretty sister'

 

_'Should've fucked her in the ass', he said._

 

“I left him to die once, I'll have no problem finishing the work if he approaches you, just say the word and I'll start chopping the wood for his pyre myself-”

 

“I think we kissed.”

 

Arya turned her head quickly to face her sister, compelling her to start the braid all over again. Her eyes were filled with incomprehension and disgust.

 

“You _'think'_?”

 

“I'm not sure. In King's Landing, during the battle of the Blackwater. He tried to impress me but I knew he wouldn't hurt me. He wanted to flee the city, told me to get safe, that Stannis would never hurt me, but that he had to leave. He smelled of wine and I was frightened, I'm not sure of what really happened.”

 

“You really cannot remember? I mean, if it did not happen for real, why would you have dreamed about it? He is definitely not your taste, I mean, you were all about Knights and fair Maidens back then...”

 

“He is the one who opened my eyes about those tales, the one who taught me the real world. I would like to know if it happened for real, but how do I start a conversation on that topic?”

 

“You were a scared little girl whose dreams had just been shattered and whose life was crumbling apart, I think you can go talk to him as if nothing happened. He's rude enough to bring it up himself.”

 

Sansa smiled, and eventually finished her sister's braid.

 

“Here, I'm done. Let's go eat.”

 

*

 

As they entered the great Hall, almost everyone was sitting at their table already. They both sat at the main table, next to Jon and Daenerys. Arya was at the bottom of the table, and made a sign to a maid to send them some food. A few minutes after Jon started to talk to them about the lords who had responded to their call already, and the Lorathi entered the room for the first time since his arrival. He went straight to their table, much to the other Highborn's surprise, and sat right next to Arya.

 

“A man is sorry he could not join you before.”

 

“Everything is fine, Lord H'ghar, Jon answered, you have proved yourself a skillful teacher, you are forgiven.”

 

Jaqen nodded and smiled at Arya. They went on with their debate about which houses were truly loyal, but Arya could not concentrate on it anymore, and Jaqen did not seem to care.

 

“You still haven't told me why you were here.” Arya said, almost whispering.

 

“A man would have been pleased to answer a girl's question, but she seemed to be hiding from him every time he looked for her.”

 

“You found me now, so tell me.” Arya said, a bit ashamed that he noticed her sneaking out of every place he was in when she knew he wanted to talk.

 

She just could not bear to look at him in the eyes after all this time. She was afraid of what she could say, she was afraid of their ways being parted again, and being this attached scared her. She remembered how she felt when she saw him collapse, back in Braavos, during her training, thinking he was dead. She had not cried for her father's death, she had not cried for her her mother's, nor for Robb's or Rickon's. She knew she would avenge them. But she immediately sobbed at Jaqen's death. She fell to her knees panting and begged him not to go.

 

 _'The more people you love, the weaker you are'_ Cersei had once told Sansa. And she was right, whatever kind of love it is, it makes one take stupid decisions. Robb died because he loved. She would not make the same mistake, she would not become weak because of feelings, whatever feelings those were regarding this man. She would only care for her family, and that would be weak enough. But the more she looked into his eyes, the more she knew she was failing.

 

_His eyes… How after all these years, does he still look so mysterious?_

 

_Gods, I just can't help it. Even after all this training to be no one, there must still be someone in him too, right?_

 

He took a serious expression, and turned his body so he was facing her. Like this, it looked like there were only the two in the room.

 

“A man is not quite sure yet.”

 

She stopped for a moment, and frowned. She waited for him to say something else but he did not, and she was slightly going mad and furious.

 

“You came here, you greeted me, now we haven't spoken in days and you're waiting for me to guess what the heck you're doing here?!”, she was trying hard now not to make a scene and keep a straight face, although she knew he could perfectly see her real emotions.

 "If you're here to kill for a task-"

 

“A man thinks he missed you.”

 

She looked away from him, slightly embarrassed, and stared at her plate, still full of the boiled meet she had not touched.

 

“I swear you're just a pile of riddles.”

 

“That was not a riddle, a man's statement was very clear.”

 

“Are you here to kill me?”

 

He blinked, and for the first time, she saw concern in his eyes. He who always looked calm and courteous and sure, had his big golden eyes wide open in front of her. She was holding the coin he had given her in Harrenhal very tight, as if it was something really precious, although it was only a piece of iron. She realized that she was _fearing_ what he would answer. But he had already tried to kill her, and she had already become No one. And no one does not fear, no one does not feel, she tried to convince her self.

 

“Are you trying to gain my trust by showing up with this face? Because you know I trust the man who wears it? Are you even Jaqen?”

 

_Jaqen H'ghar is a fake identity, this man is no one. And no one is here to kill a girl.He has to be. There is no other explanation, the rest is a lie.  
_

 

He first clenched his teeth, then wore a sad smile.

 

“A man id Jaqen H'ghar, this face belongs to him. He did not lie when he pledged himself to the North. He wants to help a girl's country to go through this war against the dead, he will do everything he can to keep the ones she holds dear and herself safe.”

 

“I don't remember being taught so much loyalty by the faceless men.”, she spat back coldly.

 

The air of the room was still. They both did not pay attention anymore to the conversations or the noise around them.

 

“A man serves the God. The Faceless God demanded him to train a girl in order to make her the one she is now. A girl left the faceless guild. From the moment she left, a man had no purpose there anymore. This man wants to help _you_.”

 

She needed time to process what he had just told her.

 

“We will speak again later, lovely girl, a girl's brother seems to need our attention right now.”

 

_Lovely girl..._

_What is this strange effect this mere pet name has on me?_

 

She had forgotten for a moment that they were not alone, but in a crowded room, and that Jon was trying to speak about the state of the war.

 

“...swords we could collect. We could still use Euron Greyjoy's armor, as it is fully made out of Valyrian Steel, but he is nowhere to be found, even Bran could not see where he is.”

 

As always, Tyrion Lannister was sitting next to his silver haired queen, and no words came out of his mouth. But tonight, he was wearing a worried look on his face.

 

“But he saw Jaime Lannister and one of his companion heading toward this direction. Our Ravens sent to King's Landing were not answered by Cersei yet, and the southern armies do not seem to be moving, so we will need to start building a balista of our own, based on your work, maesters. We will need a fair amount of them, if the dragon can move rapidly, he will be able to escape one easily, but it will be more complicated if many aim at him at the same time.

Concerning our forces, I want each of you who are training children to send the weakest ones to the smiths and minors, we need more weapons out of Dragonglass for we must provide each of the southern soldiers something to fight with.”

 

It was the queen's turn to speak.

 

“The Night King is approaching quickly, the most important thing to do is motivate your people. Tell them what is out there, tell them they are fighting for life. Do not let them think that the southern armies are invading the North. The color of their banner does not matter in this war, the only banner they need to hold is the one of the living.”

 

At that they all left the room and returned to their quarters. A group of three giggling handmaidens approached their table, where only the family and Jaqen were remaining.

 

“Would you like some ail m'lords?”, one of them said in a annoyingly high pitched voice.

 

“It's from here, it's really good, my father brews it.”, another said, looking at Jaqen.

 

The third one was just holding a basket of black bread, and was staring at him biting her lower lip.

 

He smiled at them, and Arya thought she was about to explode.

 

“Thank you, my ladies, but a man is not thirsty. He stood up, and took Arya's arm, she felt somehow triumphing, and they both got out of the room, after greeting the remaining people.

 

They went to another room, where some privileged soldiers would train when it was too cold outside. It was lit by a big fireplace, and they both sat down near from it to get warm.

For a moment, the both stared into the flames and said nothing.

 

Finally, Arya broke the silence.

 

“So, your purpose was not to make me faceless?”

 

“A man knew from the beginning that a girl would not let go of Arya Stark.”

 

“Why did you make me go all the way to Braavos, then?”

 

“A girl had still to discover who Arya Stark was, and the Many Faced God made a man understand that Braavos was the only place she could do so.”

 

He looked deeply in her eyes. They were not far from each other, they had to sit quite close from the fire to feel the heat.

 

She hesitated, but she turned her head so they were facing each other, and got a bit closer.

 

“I think I missed you too.”

 

She had missed his eyes, his scent, the feeling of safety. The Hound had once asked Brienne of Tarth where she would bring Arya had she been the one watching over her, he had asked her where safety was. To Arya, safety was family. She would have felt safe if the Lady Knight had brought her to Jon. But she realized that she would also have felt safe if she had brought her to Jaqen, and Jaqen was not family. He was something else she could not place.

 

_Friend. Protector._

 

He smiled, and she could not recall ever seeing a smile that felt this… honest.

 

“Arya…”

 

Something tingled in her stomach. He had never addressed her by her name. He had always used 'a girl' or 'a lovely girl', or he had spoken of 'Arya Stark' in the third person. In Lorathi politeness, addressing to someone directly and not through third person speech was a sign of non-respect, or great intimacy. A great intimacy only very good friends, or only lovers would share. Arya had not decided yet with which one she would be the most pleased.

 

With the back of his finger, he softly brushed the side of her cheek. It made her blush. They were very close from each other now, she could almost feel the warm air coming out of his lungs against her nose, she could smell the fresh whiff of ginger and cloves. He only needed to duck his head a little for their lips to touch.

 

He quickly took his hand back and looked away, as if regaining himself.

 

“It's getting late, lovely girl. You should get back to your room.”

 

He stood up and left her sitting alone on the cold ground.

 

_What the hell was that?_

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so if you did not read the books, you might be wondering what the heck is happening in Sansa's head. Sansa here is talking about what the fans of GoT community are calling the 'UnKiss'.  
> During the battle of the Blackwater, the Hound (drunk and after deserting the battle) was hiding under Sansa's bed and as she entered the room he put a knife on her throat and forced her to sing a song, which he had made her promise earlier. She was supposed to sing him 'Florian and Jonquil', but she could not remember the verses, so she sings about the Mother of mercy and it is implicitly told that the Hound cried hearing the song. He then left, leaving Sansa with his bloody white cloak.  
> But as the story goes on in Sansa's PoV, she also remembers kissing the Hound (but we readers know that it did not really happen)  
> I hope this helps ;)


	6. The Maids and the Lorathi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, because of a quite unexpected turn of events in my life, I will be able to upload more often :P  
>   
> I hope you will like this chapter, next chapter will come out next week, any feedback is much appreciated ;) <3

Days passed, nothing really moved in Winterfell. There was this kind of fear, ruling over the whole country, keeping the air still and the Westerosi awaken at nighttime. The fear one feels before something important happens, the petrifying calm before the raging storm. All the lords and commoners were stressed out. Prototypes of Balistas were forming in the fields near Winterfell. The dragons could always be seen up in the air, and people on the ground were always urging themselves, stacking provisions, shooting at wooden aims, fighting with training swords.

 

Jaqen and Arya only spoke during dinners, never during the day, eventhough they would cross and nod at each other from time to time. But they never evoked again what happened near the fireplace, and never got this close again during their talks. Whenever they talked to each other, they seemed to forget about the coming danger.

 

Unconsciously, Arya did not hurry to finish her plates. As much as the baths she always took, dinner had become a special time. The only time of the day whence she could have Jaqen all for herself. No one dared to bother them as they sat at the big family table. The maids would only throw him a glare and a smile when they would come to fill their cups again, but he would only smile politely in response, never talk to them.

 

_What a tease_

 

Gendry however would talk to them, give them a little tour of his forge when they came to him by day, to enquire if 'the stag', as they liked to call him, needed anything. Arya was quite sure that a few of them had found their way to his bed already. But since Jaqen had been freed from the cells, most of the maids attention was on him. One time Arya had wondered if he too, had bedded any of them. As if reading her thoughts, Sansa had told her that eventhough a few maids had expressed their wish to seduce him, he never gave them his attention fully, but Arya faked indifference at her sister's words.

 

He was a pleasant man to look at, on that point, she had to agree with her sister (and the many handmaidens who vainly tried to approach him), although she would never really admit it out loud.

 

It was one of those nights again, they were all sitting at the table. The usual group of giggling girls were debating on who should bring the bread to the table. Pretty loudly at that, missing their high-pitched unbearable voices was impossible.

 

_Gods. They're ridiculous._

_He's just a man. Get over it._

 

She felt his finger brush against her hand, which was holding her knife very tight. She immediately turned her head in his direction, and quickly took the angry expression off her face, which she had not realized she was wearing. Because of all her 'aroused-girls behavior analysis', she had forgotten that they were in the middle of a conversation about her family.

 

They always talked about her, she had noticed that. One time, she tried to be the one asking the questions, but all the information she could gather was that Jaqen was born near the Lorathi Bay. She tried to get him to talk about his family, she knew already that his father was long dead. They had briefly talked about his mother, and when they did, she was sure that she saw a glimpse of sadness in his look. He had told her that she was a spinner, but that she had died when he was young. And after that the subject was never brought up again. She knew that he joined the faceless guild as a boy after his mother's death two decades from now. When Arya was in Braavos, the kindly Man had told her that he had been the one training her master many years ago. She wondered what he must have looked like as a boy. She knew that the face he always wore around her was his true face.

 

“Is a girl listening? Why is she so tense?”

 

“I'm not…, she said, blushing, what were you saying again?”

 

He laughed quietly, showing his perfectly white teeth.

 

_Damn it. I'm no better than them._

 

“Does a lovely girl find these giggling ladies annoying? A man could take care of them.”

 

 

*

 

 

“That's all they're waiting for.”, she spat out in response.

 

_She frowns again._

_She tries to hide it._

_Doesn't work, lovely girl._

 

Jaqen chuckled again. The one he had been calling 'lovely girl', the one he had traveled to this strange place for, in the blink of an eye, had forgotten everything she had been taught by the faceless men about hiding her emotions and keeping a straight face.

 

_Jealousy_

 

“About that, everybody is surprised that none of them was yet found in your bed.”

 

Jaqen laughed rather loudly. He caught Gendry looking at the both of them with the same annoyed look he had since he knew the Lorathi was here.

 

“A girl has no reason to use the term 'yet'.”

 

“Why not? I know about the reputation you had in Harrenhal. Maids speak, you know. Back then they were all about the 'tanned foreigner', and it's the same here. They're quite beautiful, there's nothing holding you.”, she said, a sad look in her eyes, unnoticeable if the Lorathi had not been the one teaching her how to hide it.

 

_Ah. If only a girl knew what holds a man_

 

These girls were indeed beautiful. All of them were tall and voluptuous, they had long hair and a feminine allure. It made the Lorathi realize how different they looked from his lovely girl.

She was small, her hair was straight and dark and short, but despite her skinny frame and her men's clothes, her curves and her womanly chest could not be denied.

 

True, she looked nothing like the girls she described as beautiful, but she was not aware of her own beauty. Her snowy skin, her gray eyes, the fierce look in them, every detail of her appearance was perfect in his mind, because it belonged to her. Her eyes reminded him of the sea he used to stare at for so long when he was a boy. Their color varied, depending on the lighting, or her emotions. When she was angry, they looked more gray, like the surging waves during a storm. When she was sad, the pale green showed, like the turquoise shine of the still stream during the long summers. He could get lost for hours, just looking in her eyes, and for the first time since he had become faceless, he had felt home.

 

“A man has no interest in them.”, he said, his tone dry.

 

He looked at her angry expression easing a little bit. She bit her lower lip, like she usually did when she was upset,or aroused, although she did not notice, and it made it slightly pinker that before. The Lorathi wondered if it would turn as pink if he was the one biting it, he wondered how hard he would need to bite for it to turn red, he wondered how her blood would taste in his mouth.

 

_Her cheeks would redden for sure_

_Would a lovely girl like that?_

 

He could not figure out why he wanted her so bad.

True, he had bedded more men and women than he could count, but always to kill them afterward or to take care of his own body. The many-faced God allowed his servants to take care of themselves, to drink, to eat, to sleep. To lust was one of those things, because it was a need of the body. But the Lorathi was not only lusting for his lovely girl's mere body. It was not only his own release that he sought, he wanted to please her, too.

 

_To lust is to need_

_To love is to sin_

 

To love implies another being, it is a denial of selflessness. It can turn a man crazy, it can make them do things they would never do if it was not out of love. A man who loves is not only dependent of the God he worships, but also of the person he cares about. He will do things that make no sense in order to gain that person's love back.

 

 _Like_ _cross seas and go bury themselves in the snow to fight an army of mythical creatures_

 

Jaqen knew that he had failed his God by following the girl back to Westeros. Yet he did not regret this decision. The God had been the one asking him to train the girl, telling him that her life had an importance in the fate of this world. Only the God could have been the one birthing this feeling the Lorathi did not know before. This kind of wonderment he felt whenever he was looking at her.

 

“Does _a man_ have no more interest in women?”, she said as a challenge, rising her left brow.

 

He chortled lightly, surprised at her answer, as always.

 

“If he does, he is really good at hiding it, the maids can't hold themselves anymo-”

 

_She is impossible_

 

“A man has an interest in women, he is just not interested in this kind of ones.”

 

She raised both her brows now.

 

“The 'pretty' kind? May I ask what kind gets a picky man's attention, then?”, she voiced out mockingly.

 

He ducked his head a little so that he could whisper in her ear, so that she could feel the warm wind brushing against her pale skin, sending shivers that only he could see.

 

“A girl should know better than anyone who gets a man's attention.”, he answered, smirking and making her lose her amused expression.

 

  



	7. Every Lesson makes you better

Once in her feather bed, Arya could not find sleep. It was not very late, and she turned in her bed for what felt like hours, thinking about their conversation, at the way he looked at her and the way she stared at him like one of these fools. At one point, she stood up and just walked in her room, and then got out, taking Needle and a pair of boots with her.

 

_'A girl should know better than anyone who gets a man's attention.'_

 

_If he wasn't that much of a tease, maybe 'a girl' could find some sleep more easily_

 

Only the few torches were lighting the corridor as she stood in front of the door of the room Jaqen was assigned. She did not know what she was doing there.

She made sure no one was around, for it would look suspect for her to be out of her room so late, and only wearing some sort of tunic, that served her as sleepwear. In fact, she was mostly afraid of Sansa's or Jon's reaction if they would be to know that she visited the foreign assassin at night.

 

_Me. Afraid of what my siblings would think. What the hell happened?_

 

She held Needle tight by the grip, and pushed the door open.

 

“Jaqen?” she whispered.

 

She entered the empty room, making sure to close the door so no one would see her if they passed by, and sat on a chair near the fireplace, the only real source of light of the room, let alone the few candles here and there. She wondered where he could be this late, but remembered he was quite fond of bathing, and that she had seen the giggling maids pass by with a bunch of towels and pots.

 

_One man does not need this much supplies nor this many chambermaids to bathe_ , she thought.

 

_Well, it's Jaqen, that's probably why these girls were giggling like some aroused hens_

 

It made her angry, but she could not quite place why, so she quickly forgot about it.

 

Being in his room oddly made her feel closer to him.

She stared out the window, and her glance fell to his bed, freshly made by the chambermaids.

 

_He sleeps in this bed_ , she thought, and then tried to imagine him sleeping. It was strange imagining him in this very vulnerable way, so peaceful.

 

She could not help the flashing images of him wearing nothing but a pair of sleeping underclothes. She tried to stop them but could not resist the tempting pictures.

She had actually never seen him bare chested, but she had seen other men, and tried to picture how he would look, according to the way he trained, and to the fact that the rest of his body seemed quite muscular.

 

_Quite 'pleasing to the eye', like Sansa said before_

 

“Is a girl looking for something?”

 

She froze, and flushed, then turned to see him. As always, she hadn't heard him come in.

He was wearing his night's clothes already, a gray shirt and brown tied up pants. His shoulder-length red and white hair seemed still a bit damped from his recent bath.

 

_This was not a good idea._

 

He casually leaned against the stone wall next to the door, pretty far from her.

 

“Hum...yes, actually, I was…looking for you.”

 

At this he arched his brow, and she continued.

 

“It's been a while since I haven't trained properly, and since we're both busy all day long…”

 

“Hmm, but a man has seen a girl spar everyday with the knight who swore to protect her.”

 

“Yes I trained a little with her, but she's not as good, I mean… training is not as efficient as if I would be to train with you”

 

He smiled, and she had to restrain herself not to bite her lip.

 

“Apparently the training a girl claims to be not efficient enough is hard enough for her to be sore at the end of the day.”, he said smirking.

 

“I'm not sore, I can still fight.”, she spat out frowning, trying to believe her own words.

 

It was only partly a lie, she had been so tired after her training sessions these past few days, and her muscles were so sore that she went to the bath-chambers almost every time after sparring, but nothing seemed to ease the pain. But she had gone through more difficult situations, she had trained harder, back in Braavos, to become a Faceless Man, so she knew when her body could still go for a few hours. And even if she inwardly denied it, spending time alone with him was great enough of a motivation to forget about the pain for a while.

 

But still. He caught the lie.

 

He took a few steps towards her, and they stood in front of each other, separated by the lit fireplace.

 

“Hmm” He nodded in irony.

 

His voice was so deep and his stare so intense on her, she felt her jaw harden and he knees squeeze together.

 

_This was not a good idea._

 

She stood up ignoring his mocking glance and unsheathed Needle. He laughed quietly.

 

“A girl knows how to fight already, but she doesn't know how to take care of herself after her hard training. If she continues to neglect her body the way she is right now, it is no wonder that her training sessions will become less and less efficient. Maybe a man should teach a girl the ways to take care of herself this time.”

 

She frowned.

 

“I'll sleep better after I train.”

 

“A girl knows she is wrong, and she is not listening.”

 

She rolled her eyes

 

“Fine, tell me what I need to know about 'relaxation', and I'll apply what you taught me after we trained.”

 

He sighed, and remembered how stubborn she had always been.

 

“What is the best way to get better?” He asked quietly.

 

“Practice makes you better.”

 

“Care is like any other exercise, a girl can only get better at it if she practices taking care of herself. So, what are ways to practice taking care of herself?”

 

She lowered her weapon, but still held it tight.

 

_Urgh, he is so annoying. But arguing with him never ends well for me anyway._

 

She inhaled sharply, and made sure he could see it was not what she came here for, which made him chortle.

 

“Well, there is sleep, but I already practice for that quite a lot”, she said, mimicking his ironical tone.

 

She looked at him, and he was waiting for another answer.

 

“There is also stretching, but this too, I can already do well. I was also already taught meditation and praying, and practiced it ever since.”

 

He was still waiting for something else, but when she said nothing, he answered:

 

“Did a girl's teachers at the Faceless Men never show her how to knead her muscles? A man can recall his sister, the woman a girl used to call 'The Waif', would sometimes suppress the nods and tightness' for recruits that served well.”

 

The only thing she could remember about physical contacts of this kind with her former masters was this one time the Waif had broken her left arm so she would learn to use her right one. And the Waif genuinely hated her, she had suspected her to appreciate making the break so painful. When she could fight well enough with her non-dominant arm, the Kindly Man had come with many different oils and twisted her injured arm in all directions to put it back in place. She remembered that it was very painful, and in no way releasing.

 

“Apparently not.”

 

“Why does it matter? I wouldn't have been able to do it on my own anyway.”

 

He smiled, but it was almost unnoticeable, and she was starting to get where he wanted to.

 

_That was not a good idea at ALL._

 

“How convenient then, that a man and a girl are two in this room.”

 

He went to the door and bolted it quickly. At her confused look, he said:

 

“A man is pretty sure it is not suitable for Lady Stark of Winterfell to be in a man's room in her sleeping garment this late in the night, he would not want the chambermaids to start rumors.”

 

As he came nearer, she felt her cheeks burn and stared awkwardly at the floor, not knowing where else to look at. He turned around her, cleared her neck from the strands of chestnut hair, and placed his hands on her shoulders. He was behind her, and her grip on Needle was so tight that her knuckles turned white.

 

He put his hands on the part that connected her neck and shoulders above her tunic and kneaded it.

 

_Ah… how did he know it was exactly there?_

 

It was where she ached for a few weeks now. Her head fell forward and she let out a sigh of release. His thumbs traveled to the exposed lower part of her neck, and pressed there.

 

He saw her tight grip on Needle.

His hands traveled upwards, and pressed the muscles of her neck. Then, they slowly moved down, always applying pressure, and Arya let out a soundless 'Ah' in release.

 

_His hands on me..._

 

He kept on massaging her back, and it felt better and better.

 

“The lesson can still go on, a man and a girl can do two things at the same time.”

 

She thought she would give him the answer he wanted, afraid that he would take his hands off if she didn't.

 

“The Waif taught me how to prepare ointments that release the tightness in the muscles after a hot bath.”

 

She turned her head to see his reaction.

His smirk grew larger, and he briefly exposed his white teeth.

 

“That is indeed another way, but a girl knows a more effective one, that, a man is sure of.”

 

At her interrogating look, he got closer, a wicked smirk on his lips.

He smelled of ginger and cloves, and she felt a tightness in her lower stomach, some kind of pressure waiting to be released. She had missed his scent, exotic, yet somehow like home. His lips were very close from her ear, and as he whispered she could feel his hot breath, and it sent shivers down her spine.

 

“Does a girl not recall? In the bath chambers a few nights ago, a girl seemed to know quite a lot about this very way of relaxation”

 

Her expression dropped.

 

_Hells_

 

Their eyes met, and she immediately looked away, very able to recall what he was talking about.

 

_I should've locked the door, why did I not lock this fucking door,_ she cursed herself.

 

She felt her cheeks flush so red right now that she was sure the color of her face looked like the fire warming the room, and making it so SO hot she found it hard to breathe (or was it him right next to her, their bodies so close that gave her this impression?)

 

_He saw me...urgh_

_That damned bastard, doesn't even have the decency to keep it for himself._

_And he dared tell 'her' once that 'a girl' lacked honor?_

 

He walked in front of her again and put his hands behind his back. Their faces were in front of each other's, although he was much taller than her and needed to lean down a little.

 

He had this smirk back on his face, which made her wonder if she'd rather slap him or kiss him right now, but she was too mortified to do anything.

His eyes had this light in them, they were almost glittering because of the nearby fire (or was it her being right next to him, their bodies almost touch- _No, he's only making fun of you right now, it's not like_ _'_ _that_ _'_ _'_ )

 

“A man did not mean to embarrass his lovely girl. He did not stay long, he struggled to keep his own hands from wandering all around his body, at the tempting sight of a girl, so he decided to leave before he would have lost the combat.”

 

_How could he talk about this so easily? Does he not feel just the tiniest bit of shame?_

 

Well, maybe it would be like 'that', whatever 'that' means, if he too, can't keep his hands still whilst thinking about he- _Shut up, he's making fun of you._

No he wouldn't, she thought, he's always been so protecting towards her, he wouldn't be this cruel, right?

 

She wondered what he had seen.

 

_Did he just see me from a far? Gods I didn't even close the door, he just had to walk by to…_

_Did he see me naked? No, surely he wouldn't have stayed if he saw me undress, he probably just walked by when I was in the water already…_

_But still… ugh…_

_He really did not need to bring that up, what does he want anyway? If this is a way to embarrass me as a revenge for ignoring him…_

_Gods I don't get this man_

 

Coming back from her thoughts, Arya decided that if he was comfortable with this matter, she too would be, because there was no reason why she should be the only one embarrassed. So she gathered all the courage she had to say something, remembering that she had been silent this whole time.

 

“So, a man sneaks on a girl while she bathes, and finds it a good idea to tell her while she holds a sword?”, she said, creasing one of her brows.

 

“That is not the answer to a man's question, lovely girl.”

 

“And what would you have me answer, Jaqen? Yes, I did… this in the bath-chambers, but I don't see how telling you will make me more educated.” she spat out in frustration, her face loosing the straightness she had just gathered.

 

His smirk grew larger, and she couldn't quite place the way he looked at her right now, amused, maybe?

 

“Does a girl relax this way often?”

 

Her eyes grew wider and her mouth fell open.

 

“Wha-...NO, but- How can y- why are we talking about this?!”

 

He came closer to her, which made her take a step back, but that did not prevent him from coming even closer. He only stopped when she was pinned against the wall, trapped between the latter and Jaqen's lean body, their bodies only a few inches apart. She noticed that his shirt was a bit too large for him, which allowed her to get a peak of his hairless, muscled torso. She gulped before looking up to meet his eyes, not glittering anymore but now completely alight.

 

“A man is only trying to help his lovely girl, he can teach her how to use these lovely hands of hers,-

He placed a hand on her cheek, and the sudden contact made her shiver. The pressure in her belly was getting more and more intense.

-and after a man has taught her, he can promise it will feel much better than it does already.”

 

She bit her lower lip, and then cursed herself for not being able to control it.

 

_'his' lovely girl…_ He had called her 'lovely girl' only in Harrenhal, and she had not realized until recently that she had missed this endearment, and now he called her 'his'- _you sound like Sansa, ugh, how is this even possible?_

 

_What the hell is he doing to you, you're just standing there like a fool while he's openly mocking you, say something for fuck's sake!_

 

“And what tells you I want **you** to teach me?”, she spat out again.

 

She tried to sound angry, but failed miserably and only sounded confused. She cursed herself many times in her head and knew exactly what he was about to say.

 

“A girl also needs to get better at lies”

 

She closed her eyes and sighed in frustration, which only made him smirk.

 

“Moreover, a man stayed long enough to hear what name a girl was calling in the midst of her ministrations, and he could not be more flattered.”, he said, an arrogant look in his eyes.

 

_Fucking bastard_

 

_Well, if he decides to play THIS game, then..._

 

“So you did stay for quite a while, must have been one hell of a struggle with your hands” she said, as mockingly as she could.

 

He raised a brow in surprise.

 

“But a man's hand are experimented, they obey. And when it comes to this kind of training, they know what to do. A girl's don't- He took her trembling hands with the tip of his fingers and placed them on her hips.

-A man tells a girl what to do, and a girl comes back tomorrow fully composed. So she can properly train fighting with the teacher she has missed so much, yes?”

 

She opened her mouth to protest, as she looked at her hands, held by his strong grip, she noticed a bulge at the level of his crotch. She knew enough about men to know what that meant. And she had a better idea.

 

She set Needle down, and put on the most innocent expression she could.

 

“I see… but _a man_ should know by now that _a girl_ never does what she's told. Moreover, she would feel bad thinking about a man leading a battle on his own against his wandering hands-

It was her turn to take his hands with her skinny fingers. She switched the roles and placed his hands on her hips with hers on top. She felt a dampness between her thighs.

 

_Want_

 

His expression was now serious and hers, amused, but they did not break once eye contact.

-perhaps _a man_ should not tell a girl, but **show** her first what she's supposed to do, surely his experimented hands can prove her that it is the best way she can take care of herself.”

 

For a short moment they both looked deeply in each other's eyes and smiled.

Her hands slowly went from the top of his hands to his forearms.

 

“A girl plays with fire.”

 

_Oh please_

_You started this_

 

“Is a man afraid to get burned?”

 

He smirked again.

 

“Does a girl know what she is asking?”

 

“Does a girl look unsure?”, she tried to say seductively, unable to control her reddening cheeks.

 

He courteously bowed his head, and she was pretty sure that she saw lust in his glistening eyes.

 

“A girl has more courage than sense.”

 

She started to focus on her breath, the warmth of his body, his sparkling eyes.

Her hands came to rest on his shoulders.

 

She tip-toed and did her best to elevate herself. Once their eyes were at the same level, she could feel his breath against her nose. She blushed, and hesitated before taking her decision.

 

She closed her eyes and softly brushed her lips against his.

 

It was a quick kiss. Her first. He did not move. He opened his eyes, and the way she was looking at him was unsure and full of hopes, too much for him to stand.

 

_Not enough_

 

His hands moved to grip her waist, and this time he leaned down to reach her lips. The kiss was not chaste and unsure like hers, but wanting, more like a need.

 

_Gods_

 

She wrapped her trembling hands around the back of his neck, and felt strands of damped hair around her fingers, and a fervent and passionate dance commenced. Arya let instinct take over, she was not thinking, she was just acting, she was a slave to her own body, and so was he, both of them were unable to show any kind of restraint in front of the newly discovered obsession.

 

_Is this right?_

_Gods this feels good_

 

The tingle in her stomach intensified. She felt the wall behind her scratch her back. His lips were soft against hers, and his hair felt fresh and silky around her long fingers.

 

“Open your mouth, lovely girl.”, he said against her lips.

For once, she did as she was bid.

 

_Gods Gods_

 

Her heart was hammering in her chest.

She parted her lips, and his tongue invaded her mouth. The new sensations their rubbing tongues brought made her arch for him. His thumbs started caressing the sides of her waist.

She gripped the collar of his shirt and brought him closer, so that their chests were touching. She heard him inhale sharply and felt his hands wander higher as the harden peaks of her breasts, not well concealed under the thin fabric, crashed against his torso.

 

Her heart was plundering, and she was pretty sure he could feel it too, even through the layers of cloth.

He tugged at the sides of her short night gown, and she smiled at the fact that it looked like he was asking for permission. She had not been in such an empowered position towards him since Harrenhal, when she had given him his own name.

 

Feeling bold, she untied the front of her tunic, and his hands quickly moved underneath the fabric to touch the bare skin underneath, tracing the scars that the Waif's knife had left on her pale skin, his work. She felt exposed, but was reassured by the fact that her undergarments were still hiding her.

 

They parted for air, and she took the occasion to remove his shirt as well.

He looked even better than she had imagined. His torso was lean and his muscles defined. His golden skin was almost glowing due to the lighting.

He moved and kissed the sensitive part behind her ears, nipped at the side of her neck, and it made her giggle and moan a little.

 

She started caressing his naked torso and exposed abs. Her touch was light and a little nervous, he could sense that.

He ceased suckling the soft flesh of her neck and said with his raspy, deep voice:

 

“First, a girl has to know her sensitive spots.”

 

To that, his hands found their way underneath the thin cloth that covered her breast. It surprised her at first, but she quickly leaned into the touch.

 

“A lovely girl's breast fits perfectly in a man's hand.”, he whispered in her ear.

 

She blushed, and bit the inside of her cheek to control the sounds of whimper. He rolled a thumb over one of her harden tips, and she gasped.

He crashed his lips against her open mouth, and their tongues fought for dominance. He left her mouth and traveled down her little chin, her sensitive neck, and ended up on the snow white skin of her left breast. He ripped the fabric and threw it carelessly on the floor.

 

The sudden act made them both quietly laugh. His hands went down her back when hers found their place back in his thick hair. He took the peak in his mouth and swirled his hot tongue around it a couple of times, which made her throw her head back and open her mouth in want. He started kneading her bottom, and gently bit down her aroused tip.

It made her shut her eyes and her legs tremble and go weak.

 

Her rapidly caught her and took her to the bed, his mouth now on the other breast, giving it the same treatment. He laid her down on the pillows, and his hands moved to remove the last piece of fabric she was wearing.

 

Her hands were awkwardly on both of her sides, not sure what to do. As he started pulling her underclothes down, she looked away again. She felt the air of the room against her wetness, and felt very exposed, and she unconsciously brought her knees back together a little.

He was on top of her, on his knees between her parted legs. With one hand, he traced the side of her jaw, and turned her head so that she was looking at him again, smiled at her and kissed her deeply.

 

“A girl looks so beautiful right now.”

 

His other hand moved from her outer thigh to her inner thigh, and just lingered here for a bit, the time that she got used to the new sensations.

 

“Now, show me how able these hands are.”, she said smirking.

 

He chortled, and, seeing her confidence restored, he moved his hand further, parting her legs, and gently circled her folds with a finger, still looking at her in the eyes. He saw her open her mouth suddenly, bathed in a whole new dimension of sensations.

He brushed his fingers on her bundle on nerves, and she squeezed her eyes shut and let out a moan.

He did it again, faster and rougher this time, and her breath started accelerating. His touch was so different from hers, like an immediate awakening of pleasure in her body. Although she did not have anything else but her own fingers to compare his to, she knew.

 

_He is VERY good_

 

He dipped one finger in her wetness, and rubbed it again a couple of times before pushing it through her tight entrance. She expected it to hurt, but it slid right into her as if it was the place it always belonged to, and her body shuddered as if it was the only thing it was made for, being indulged by this man.

 

She heard him whisper very quietly, and she would not have been able to get it if she had not trained as a blind girl to enhance her hearing.

 

“Gods, Arya...”

 

It made her smile in satisfaction and triumph, she was turning him as crazy as he was turning her.

He moved his finger back and forth, deliciously rubbing against her inner walls, caressing her waist with his free hand.

He kissed her again, and her hands discovered his muscular back, the tight muscles of his arms, his soft and warm skin.

He added another finger, and started rubbing her core with his thumb, and going faster, harder. She started to meet his thrusts with her balancing hips.

 

“You feel even better than I had imagined.”, he whispered very close to her ear.

 

At this moment, Arya started loosing all her rational thoughts. She curled her toes and planted her nails in his back.

 

“You squeeze around my fingers, a man can tell you like it...”, he purred teasingly.

 

She smiled, but she could not think any reasonable thoughts anymore. His raspy voice, his touch, everything, every damned thing about this man was just too much for her to handle.

He kept going, plunging in her, harder every time, her muscles squeezing around his deft fingers.

 

“And this is just a glimpse of a man's abilities, can a girl imagine the other things he could do to her? Bending her in all sorts of positions, making her scream again and again until only a lustful mess remains of her…”, he whispered tentatively in her ear before gently biting it.

 

_Yes, yes, I would let you do anything…_

_Hells, what is this feeling, I can't think anymore_

_This feels so good_

 

She felt her inner walls and then her whole frame trembling, and waves of heat through her body. She moaned his name in between pants. He too, had to open his mouth for air, and his breath accelerated.

 

He curled his fingers and pushed them deeper, and hit a spot that made the light of the room flicker.

 

_Oh Gods, so good, too good_

 

Her back arched and she threw her head back, crying out, scrapping his back, leaving marks.

His fingers kept moving, stroking her faster to intensify her orgasm.

 

When she found her breath again, he kissed her deeply, and she put her hands around his cheeks.

He took his fingers out, drenched in her arousal, and held them to her mouth.

 

“A girl should be dirty too. This is her work.” he said, with an arrogant and pleased look, still hovering on her.

 

“I believe a man is quite responsible for it” she threw back with the same arrogance, pushing his hand towards his mouth.

He smirked back, and sucked slowly and loudly at his fingers, not breaking eye contact, making sure she saw all of it.

 

“A girl tastes just like winter.”, he outed, his tone impregated in strange fascination.

 

Her cheeks turned red, and she took a deep breath and leaded her trembling hands towards his crotch.

He caught them before she could do anything.

She looked at him even more confused.

 

“Ah ah ah, the lesson is about self-care tonight, lovely girl, this kind of practice will be for another time.”

 

She felt sort of relieved, smiled at him before he once again ravaged her lips.

 

“Gods, Jaqen…”

 

What she felt, it was unexplainable. New, yet familiar. Home, but mysteriously attracted.

 

_This man is going to be the end of me_

 

He laughed quietly, kissed her forehead, her nose, her chin, her cheek before rolling to her side, holding her tight. He pulled the sheets over her naked body and caught her in a tight embrace.

 

“Sleep now, my lovely girl…”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed this very first smutty encounter of our favourite ship ;)  
>   
> Thanks for reading guys, and thank you for your wonderful feedback <3


	8. Farewell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm sorry this chapter is a little bit late (and it also has no illustrations :'( ) but next chapter will come out on Saturday or Sunday, as usual ;)  
> I hope you will like it, any kind of comment is much appreciated ;)  
> 

 

She woke up in her bed, her tunic completely open under the sheets, and a light smell of rosemary filling the room.

 

_Wait…_

 

She looked around her. The usual canopy, same carpet, Needle at the side of her bed. She was in her bedroom, in her own bed, and a steaming cup of tea was sitting on the wooden table.

 

_Was that a dream?_

 

It was still early, she could tell by the color of the sky reflecting on the snow outside.

She sighed, closing her eyes and trying to remember what had happened.

 

_Gods, it did not feel like a dream… I can still remember how his hands felt on my skin, how his lips felt against m-_

 

She heard someone knock at the door. She quickly tied the strings of her nightgown, and threw some unshaped piece of thick clothing to hide her sleeping garments.

 

“Come in.”

 

“M'lady, you did not attend the council meeting this morn', Jaqen and the maids said you were not feeling well.”

 

_They let me sleep in?_

 

She had not spoken to him in days. She had carefully avoided him, and just caught him staring from time to time. She had watched him from a far, melting down the Valyrian steel High Lords' swords , forging spears that were bigger than him.

 

“I came to say goodbye.”, he said, his piercing blue eyes glistening in the light of dawn.

 

“You're leaving?”

 

_Again?_

 

He smiled, and wore this arrogant expression again. The expression he always wore when he told anyone that he was 'King Robert Baratheon, the Usurper's' bastard.

 

“I volunteered to rescue the Greyjoy Queen, my lady. She is probably in King's Landing. They said they'd need someone to smuggle them in, someone who knows the streets, and Ser Davos sits at your brother's council. I'm leavin' to meet her brother and his men on the morrow. I wanted to tell you myself that you don't need to worry about me.”

 

Arya thought about how she had felt when he left her for the first time, when she was only a girl of ten and two. She had begged him not to go with the brotherhood, and told him that she could be his family, biting her lip to keep her composure and prevent the tears from falling. But he had turned her down.

 

“ _No. You'd be milady.”_

 

But this time was nothing like five years ago. She was not this lost child anymore, and he was not the kind and protective smith anymore. He was the bastard of the Usurper, and somehow felt proud to shove it in people's face, although he never knew his father nor anything in King's Landing but his Qohorik master and the muddy streets of Flea Bottom. But had told her before that somehow he felt more important now that he knew that he was a bastard of a noble, he had even forged a stag on the hammer he fought with. He had explained her how tired he was of serving, had whined about serving men who never cared about him during his whole life, had complained about how the life of nobles was so much easier, and that they would never be able to serve the Kingdom correctly if they did not live as beggars themselves first.

 

_And what kind of King would a beggar be?_

 

He did not understand the way she saw things. She tried to explain him that not anyone was fit to rule a kingdom, that a King not only needed to understand the problems of the poor but also the way their enemies thought, that he needed to have education about politics, but also be just to not only be respected but also loved by his subjects, but had quickly been exasperated by his stubbornness. But now was a little late to try to explain him nobility and it's importance in further detail.

 

_Nothing_

_He is leaving again_

_And I feel nothing_

 

She stood straight and tried to mimic her sister's polite smile.

 

“Farewell, Gendry. I will pray for your safe return. And always remember that you will be welcome at our table.”

 

He smiled back, took a few steps towards her, and took her hand in his and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. When he looked back at her, she turned her head away in embarrassment and stopped frowning before he could see it.

 

“We will meet again soon, m'lady.”

 

At that he walked away, and left her standing in the middle of her room, not at ease with what had just happened. When he reached the door, she saw him nod at someone before he went away, not looking back at her.

 

“Is a man interrupting anything?”

 

He entered the room and closed the door. At the sight of him, she blushed, but did not look away from him.

 

“A man is sorry a girl had to wake up in these circumstances. Early this morning, a maid summoned a man for the council meeting and found a girl in his bed instead. He told her she was feeling unwell and that a man had been taking care of her before putting her back in her own bed.”

 

She sighed in release.

 

_So it did happen_

 

He saw her concern, and smirked again.

 

“A girl worries too much.”

 

He advanced towards her, and pressed a kiss on her forehead. It was nothing like Gendry's kiss, she was at ease and his lips were soft on her snowy skin. And he did not smell of ash and sweat, but of fresh ginger and cloves.

 

He related her what had happened during the meeting, that Jaime Lannister had arrived in the night and pledged himself to the Army of the Living. He told her that he also warned them that Cersei did not really intent to send her armies North, and that Euron was in Essos seeking the 'Golden Company'. It was at this moment that they had decided to send Gendry as well as the Hound look for Theon and his men and lead them through King's Landing to rescue Yara, and to pressure Cersei's bannermen to the Living's cause, 'to threaten their homes with Dragonfire', Jaqen said using their words.

The maesters did not achieve yet to recreate a balista that would be able to shoot as far and as precisely as Qyburn's, Samwell had said, and a bit of wonderment for the Hand's genius could be heard in his voice.

They also figured that they would be unable to lead all their troops North, for some would need to hold the castles against Cersei, which will be a serious disadvantage against the army of the dead.

 

“Ah, and it looks like a man was the only one to notice it, but the silver haired queen has had a few changes in her appearance. She eats with more appetite, and tiredness can be seen on her face.”

 

“You think…”

 

Arya knew that Jon shared his bed with the Khaleesi. He had not directly told her, but the way he talked about her and looked at her sometimes had raised her suspicions. And she had seen him sneak out in the corridors near her room one night, when she was coming back from the bath-chambers.

 

“It could be so, lovely girl, or a man could be wrong. Maybe the Queen is just adapting to the cold of this country. But it seems that she tries to conceal her belly under the furrs.”

 

It was hard for her to imagine Jon being a father.

 

“A man is no maester, but it looks like two moons, maybe a little more.”

 

_He would be a great father. Honorable, like ours._

 

And Arya would be an aunt. She thought about it for a second. The only aunt she ever had was a troubled woman who lived far away. She never knew her aunt Lyanna, but based on what her Lord father had told her about his little sister, the two of them would have gotten very well along. She was fierce and loved to fight, people even called her the 'She-Wolf'. More and more people around the castle said that they even looked alike. Northern traits, a skinny frame and a taste for a good fight.

Except her story was way more tragic than hers. First promised to a Baratheon, then kidnapped, raped and murdered by a prince who was told to be the most honorable man of the country. Arya wondered how her aunt had felt about being 'promised' to a High Lord.

 

_Did she agree with that?_

 

She had heard many stories before of how the Usurper had been in love with his Lady Lyanna, but never had she heard of her loving him back.

 

_But marrying the fat King surely would have been less horrible than what happened to her in the claws of the silver crowned dragon_

 

“My brother, Jon, he…-”, she blushed, and she knew that he knwe she was thinking about last night. She had made no effort to conceal her devouring gaze, neither did he. She knew by the way he looked at her that he could still feel her feathery touch on his golden skin, now covered in numerous layers of unwanted furrs.

 

“It…quite probable.”

 

He smirked, and she bit her lip.

 

“Another thing a man has noticed is how quiet the Hand of the Queen is. Based on what he heard about him, this behavior is quite strange.”

 

“I noticed it too. I tried to ask Jon if he knew anything about why he was acting so different, but he said he did not pay much attention. Apparently he was being more quiet since he spoke with his sister.”

 

She stopped for a moment.

 

“He never said how he convinced her to change her mind about the army of the dead, or at least act as if she had changed her mind… What if he was the one telling her to do so? He might have felt guilty in the end for her children's deaths, as well as their father's. Maybe he advised her to act as if she would cooperate, but to still get safe once things would get really serious…”

 

“That is a very serious assumption, lovely girl...”

 

“You think I am wrong?”

 

“A man thinks a girl should ask the three eyed raven, she can not accuse the Hand of the Queen of treason based on a man's and a girl's intuition, although it would make perfect sense. If they are wrong, this mistake could tear the Army of the Living apart, and it could cost the living numerous lives...”

 

*

 

This afternoon was warmer than the other ones. Bran was once again warging into a crow, at the roots of the Godswood, near the blackpool of Winterfell. The army of the dead was moving incredibly slowly, slowed down even more because the further they went, the warmer it got. They would have to go around the Lust River, which would take them a few moons, the time needed for the Army of the Living to prepare and go to combat.

 

He heard the sound of footsteps on the snow, gentle and rapid.

He opened his eyes and saw his older sister waiting for him.

 

“Can I help you, Arya?”

 

“I need you to see something. Did you notice the Imp being very quiet? You knew him too before, this is not usual for him.”

 

Bran had noticed Tyrion's odd behavior, but had seen him ease when the Kingslayer pledged his loyalty to their family.

 

“I want to know what he promised Cersei for her to agree to lead her armies North, even if she is not going to in the end.”

 

He nodded, and his eyes went white.

He traveled in time, like the three eyed raven had taught him, traveled in space, all the way to King's Landing. It was not a very long journey, unlike the time he looked for Lyanna and Raeghar in Dorne during Robert's Rebellion. This time the time and the location were precise, so he quickly found himself standing next to Cersei Lannister's office, her dwarf brother on the other side.

 

Bran watched the dwarf ask for Cersei to give the order to kill him, but she did not. The meeting was tense, the hatred in between the siblings could be felt in the air, and the presence of Ser Gregor, or what remained of him, added an unsafe atmosphere to the scene.

Cersei was talking about what she thought about when first seeing the White, all the while rubbing her belly.

 

“You're pregnant.”, Tyrion stated, out of the blue.

 

They looked into each other's eyes, and for a moment, nothing was said. Then Tyrion gulped at his glass of whine, emptying it.

 

“I will not risk this one's life because of another of your whores, even if she has dragons and that an army of the dead is rushing upon us. Nothing will prevent me from building the dynasty House Lannister lost, not even you, the one who made it crumble.”

 

He sighed in front of her stubbornness.

 

“There will be no dynasty if you are transformed into a walking corpse. And even if we survive the war against the Dead, you will lose the war against Daernerys, the odds are against you. If she is so kind not to burn you with one of her dragons, you will not be able to get near the throne anymore, and your child will have no claim. But if you cooperate, if you lead your armies North and help us defeat the Undead, you will no longer be the enemy. Daenerys is smart enough to remember who helped her in her hours of greatest need. Just think about the possibilities. She can bear no children, and a dragon cannot be crown as the legit ruler of the seven Kingdoms. If anything happens to her, she has no heir. I am her adviser and her friend, she will listen to me when the time comes to write that piece of parchment about her legacy. Together, we can build a future for our house.”

 

“You think I will bow to one of your bitches?! Humiliate myself for her to consider not burning me alive?!”

 

“You love your children. It is your one redeeming quality. This is a huge sacrifice, your throne, but it is the only way to rebuild the Lannister dynasty, and you know it.”

 

He saw her wrinkle her nose, and the room went quiet for some time.

 

“I will...if you do one thing for me.”

 

He waited for her answer, trying to help the triumphing smile from showing on his face.

 

“When the paper about the heir to the throne is written, you will kill her yourself.”


	9. The Dragons and the Lion

 

Jon was looking out the window, his stare empty, as Bran was relating him what he saw in the past.

 

“He was acting unusual, so we tried to figure it out.”, Arya said softly, as if a single spark would set the lad on fire. He had not spoken any word since they started talking, and she was worried about what he would do.

 

He liked the man. He truly did. He had been the only one to pay attention to him, when the King had visited the Starks, many years ago. He had been kind to Bran, allowing him to ride thanks to a saddle of his invention.

 

_'And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and bastards and broken things'_

 

He did notice him being more quiet, more serious.

 

“He might as well regret his decision.”, Jon stated coldly, hardening his jaw after some time.

 

Jon had always been protective. He had also lost people he loved before, and did not intend to relive his losses once again. He had promised himself that he would not make the mistake of being far from the ones he held dear anymore, that he would do anything that would be in his power to keep his family safe and close from him. Not fighting next to his brother Robb, not being able to protect Rickon and Sansa from the Flayer who had tortured them in ways he could not imagine, not knowing if Bran or Arya were alive for years… He had sworn to himself that he would keep this family together, as his Lord Father would want him to.

 

“He must be kept far away from Daenerys until I decide what we'll do with him. We will not tell her, making this a public thing will not send a powerful impression to the people nor to the Lords supporting us. He is his hand, he is supposed to be her most loyal companion.”, Jon added.

 

Why would they always be betrayed, he asked himself. He knew about Ser Mormont betraying Daenerys before, about the witch stealing the lives of the ones she loved, her husband, her son… And he had been betrayed before too, by his own brothers at the Night's Watch, and when his hour had finally come, even Death had betrayed him, in the shape of a resurrecting red witch.

 

_Is that the fate of every King?_

 

The mad King Aerys, Daenerys' father, betrayed by his most loyal guard, stabbed in the back by Jaime Lannister.

Robb, killed at a wedding by a man who claimed to have forgiven him for not marrying one of his daughters, betrayed by his own bannermen.

Joffrey, poisoned at his own wedding by one of his guests.

Tommen, betrayed by his own mother, who blew a Sept full of innocents, burning his beloved wife alive.

 

_Father, betrayed by the greatest betrayer the seven Kingdoms ever knew of_

 

“As you said, he is her hand! We cannot simply send him away and pretend that he got lost!”, Arya quickly answered.

 

“I was not thinking about sending him away.”, Jon stated coldly, blankly staring at his Longclaw.

 

_This will be mercy. This will spar him the death by fire._

_The man who passes the sentence shall swing the sword_

 

“Arya is right, Jon, he cannot just disappear, we should better have Daenerys judge him.”

 

“He is his hand, and he betrayed her!”, Jon said, losing his temper.

 

“That's one more reason! Don't you think that she would prefer judging the situation by herself?”, Arya quickly added, her voice a little higher than usual.

 

_This will not end well_

 

Jon knew his dragon queen. He knew how impulsive she was. He knew how it would end for the Imp. Why had he decided to betray her now? He had always been loyal since he was pledged to her, he had always advised her justly. He had been kind to Sansa while they were married against their will, he was a clever and wise man. But mere minutes, and the half-man he had grown a liking for had become his greatest enemy. For the imp's sake, he did not wish to cross his two colored gaze in the hallways, not sure if he would be able to restrain himself from strangling him to death.

 

He looked at the colors of the sunset reflecting on the pure, immaculate snow covering the fields outside the castle. He inhaled sharply, and closed his eyes, trying to find how he would announce the news to his beloved.

 

“Fine. I'll tell her myself. Bring him to the great hall, as well as Sansa and three trustful guards. No one else.”

 

*

 

They were all gathered in the great hall, grave expressions on their faces. The queen looked furious, even more dangerous than if she had been riding a dragon. The tension could be felt in the air, and the room was quiet for a long time. Finally, her fierce voice cut the silence.

 

“Is that true?”, she asked, her face an impassive mask. As beautiful as she looked, the sight of the disappointed look she tried to hide was unbearable for Tyrion to look at. He could see the tears form in her eyes, and felt his water. He was on his knees, his head bowed so low that he could kiss his own feet if he had wished to.

 

“Did you promise your sister that you would kill me?”, she asked, coldly.

 

“Your grace, I-”

 

“Did you, or did you not?”, she asked again clenching her teeth, losing her composure and letting the anger show through.

 

He looked at the guards around him, then down to the ground again. He did the best that he could to prevent the tears from falling. He was her hand, he had pledged his life to her, promised to advise her, and the only thing he had wished for since he met her was seeing her sit on the throne that belonged only to her.

 

“I did.”, he said, almost whispered, his voice breaking.

 

He was thrown in the cells, not being told what would happen to him next. But he could guess exactly what would happen. He knew about the Queen's habits, he had tried to advise her to show mercy to her enemies many times before, in vain. But he knew that any of his requests for pity was doomed to fail. Even the most harmless ruler would not let him live. He knew that agreeing with his sister, plotting to kill the Queen he served was an act of great treason, no one could deny that. She was probably fetching one of her dragons already. He asked himself why the hell he made that promise to Cersei. He had no real intention of killing the silver-haired conqueror.

 

_Love_

_I had to chose between the love for my unborn nephew, the future of my house, or the love for her_

_And I made the wrong choice_

 

The assumption made him realize how similar to his father he was. This father who had despised him from the day of his birth, who had named him after the Tormentor, the King of the Rock whose passion was to torture, a constant reminder of his first crime, killing his mother, and being a dwarf, the shame of the Lannister family.

 

_Father would have made the same choice. Dynasty._

_Jaime made the right choice, the choice that made sense._

 

Tywin Lannister had refused to see it many times, but he and his dwarf son were more similar than he and his proud, Knight son. They both had wanted to further their house's names, when Jaime became a Knight. They both had a strategic mind, could plan the enemy's strikes in advance, when Jaime could only see the military side. They were both traitors, when Jaime was honorable.

 

_Ah, father, I wonder what your reaction will be when we will meet again in hell_

 

The cell was very small and filthy. It only consisted of planks that served as a bed and a pot in the corner. It was humid and wind would hurl through the opening, making it freezing cold, even colder than outside. He ran a hand through his ashy-blonde hair, he was nervous. He started walking in circles in the cold cell, fearing death.

 

_It'll be quick_

_Fire is quick_

 

He thought about Drogon's black and red colored fire.

 

_Which one would be quicker?_

_Red and black or gold and green?_

 

He had regretted agreeing with his sister's terms the minute he got out of her castle and met the expecting gaze of his queen, his true queen, again. Even if he had hated her, he would not have been able to kill her. He could not have stood to watch the life crawl out of these beautiful purple pupils.

He had already made up plans on how to satisfy Cersei without having to betray the true heir. He had even considered killing the mad Queen, as people in the streets on King's Landing called her, and raise his nephew himself if need be, until he would be able to take after Daenerys. He had felt relieved when seeing his brother arrive at the castle. Jaime would probably hate his for the murder of their sister, but the babe would have a father.

He had also wished to die in combat before the end of the war, so he would not have to deal with the two angry queens. But he had treated himself of coward afterward.

 

_It's better that way_

_All will be fine_

 

He wished he had wine right now. He remembered how he had wished to die once.

 

_'At eighty, in my bed, with a belly full of wine and a girl's mouth around my cock'_

 

_Well, that won't happen_

_But I certainly did not imagine dying sober_

 

He heard the sound of footsteps coming in his direction.

 

_Guards_

 

The entered the cell, lifted him and took him outside, before throwing him in the muddy snow, at the feet of the Dragon Queen and the Bastard King, who were standing in a perfect line outside the castle. Jorah Mormont, Sansa and Arya Stark were at their side.

 

He lifted his head and looked at her deep purple eyes. They were cold and fierce.

 

“Please your grace, give me a chance to explai-”

 

“You will not talk.”, she stated with an authoritative tone.

 

She waved her hand to the Bear Knight, and the old man quickly and forcefully grabbed him. The Imp panicked but did his best to keep what he had left of dignity and did not fight back, knowing that he stood no chance against the Knight, remembering how fiercely he had fought in the pits of Meereen. Mormont took off his broach, and handed it to the queen before letting the imp fall on the hard ground again. The two dragons behind them growled loudly, and the Imp thought he was really about to shit his pants.

 

They heard the wind hurl, making the Imp shake even more. The silence was unbearable.

 

“You will leave for King's Landing with the Hound and the smith. You will not have another chance to prove me your worth.”

 

Her words were like a hit in his stomach.

 

_A chance?_

_Prove my worth?_

_Oh, your grace_

 

He could have cried, and the cold would have frozen the tears rollong down his cheeks. But he did not. He had not realized.

 

He did not even have the time to process that he was back in his cold cell.

Trying to convince her to be merciful at times had worked out.

 

 _Just in time,_ he thought.

 

He sighed in release, still shocked and shaking and sweating.

He lied on his wooden bed and closed his eyes.

 

_Your majesty_

 

He fell asleep, smiling at the realization that facing a silver haired, busty Targaryen had been scarier than facing a real, breathing fire dragon that was a hundred times his size.

 

*

 

_**Earlier that evening** _

 

“And what do we do once she is killed? Who will have the throne? How can we be sure that they will send us their armies? And how do we know he will kill her?”, Jon asked.

 

“He will.”, she added, firmly. She looked at Varys, who nodded at her.

 

“Cersei's successor will be the scientist who serves her as a hand.”, Varys answered.

 

“You know him? Can we trust his decisions?”, the silver queen asked.

 

She had done her best to hide the disappointment when Jon had told her about the lion's betrayal.

The first thing she had felt like doing was burning him alive. But then she felt relieved.

 

“ _Three treasons will you know…once for blood and once for gold and once for love…”, the prophecy was._

 

The witch who stole her son's and her Khal's lives, both blood of her blood had been the first one to betray her.

Jorah Mormont had been sent to kill her in exchange of gold and a place back in Westeros had been the second one to betray her.

And since she had fallen in love with Jon Snow, she had feared that he would be the third one to betray her, fulfilling the witch's prophecy. But she had almost been thankful that the small man was so eager of building a dynasty of Lannisters again.

But that did not in any case excuse him of his crimes against her.

 

“I heard things…the man seems smart enough to take the right decisions, your grace, as long as Euron Greyjoy doesn't take the throne for himself. According to Jaime Lannister, he is still wishing to be King of the seven Kingdoms, and marry the most beautiful woman in the world.”

 

“Well, we are planning to kill the one he has in mind. There is no way that he does not take revenge on the murder of his queen.”, Sansa said.

 

“Unless we promise him another.”, Daenerys outed coldly, meeting Jon's gaze.

 

“Your grace-”, Jon tried to intervene.

 

“He is a greedy man. He will want the throne as soon as the place will be free. If he ever finds himself King in the South, we will promise him my hand in exchange of his forces.”

 

She looked at Jon, and he was wearing a surprised and wondering expression.

 

“Surely we'll find a way to get rid of him as soon as the Great war is over, your Grace, and you will be free to sit on the throne that is yours. The Greyjoys are not much appreciated, he only has the support of the Lannister bannermen through his betrothal to Cersei, but they will rally behind Ser Jaime as soon as he sets foot back in King's Landing.”, Varys said.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading guys :)  
> These chapters are on the shorter side, I know, but the longer ones will come, I promise ;)  
> Next chapter will be out next week, until then, I wish you a wonderful week <3


	10. The sweet taste of vengeance

 

“She was mine! How could they?! I told them about my list, they knew she was mine!”, the girl plagued again.

 

“A girl is wrong, Cersei Lannister was being promised to the Red God decades ago. He demanded that she be brought to him by the hands of the valonqar way before she was added on a girl's list, way before a lovely girl was even in this world.”, Jaqen stated back calmly, driving his horse back to the stables.

 

It was late at night, and they were coming back from one of their training. They trained every night in the courtyard, sparred and water danced until late. They had been doing so since the departure of Gendry, the Hound an Tyrion Lannister, more than a moon ago now. But tonight, they had experimented going out of the castle, and waited for the sky to be dark to leave with the horses. They did so for two reasons, one being that no one would notice them sneaking out just the two of them when the whole castle was asleep, and second being that there was no better place than a dark forest to improve their spying and silently fighting techniques. They had to beware every branch that would crack if they put their feet in the wrong place, every sound would be audible, and not disturbed by footsteps in a hallway if they were to train in the castle. But doing so compelled them to take care of their horses by themselves, the stable boys being asleep in their beds. Since the imp's 'trial', she was constantly wearing a frustrated expression on her face, and the courses she gave during the day did not help with her frustration, as her pupils were really bad and always whining about something.

 

“What do you know about it? You cared about Cersei's fate?”, she said, slowly turning the key to the stable's door and unlocking it.

 

“A man grew an interest about a girl's list. He asked the many faced god if she will be able to fulfill it, and this was one of the answers he got.”

 

“Valonqar is old Valyrian, it means brother, right? Little brother, if I am not wrong.”

 

He nodded.

 

“And what about the others? What did the many faced God show you about the Mountain? And the Red Woman, Beric Dondarrion, Illyn Payne?”

 

_ Curious girl _

 

“A girl will figure it out by herself soon enough.”, he said chuckling, before gently taking the saddle off his horse, moving to take the one off hers, while she was collecting grains and water to give to their mounts.

 

“Tell me!”, she hissed, dropping the full bucket on the ground.

“Come on, be fair!”

 

“A girl is insistent.”, he added, his usual smirk back on his face.

“Does she really want the surprise to be spoiled?”

 

“Stop talking to me like that! I'm not a child anymore!”, she spat out.

She was starting to get mad, but it amused him. The room was dark, but he could guess that her cheeks had turned red, like they usually do when she is pissed off.

 

“Indeed, lovely girl. But wouldn't you prefer to-”

 

“Jaqen!”

 

She was standing in front of him, frowning, her arms crossed on her chest, her eyes sparkling with anger.

He sighed, before chortling again, putting the heavy saddles down and untying the loins.

 

“A man was only informed about Cersei Lannister's fate, for the others, he only knows that they will have a hard time if they ever cross a blood-thirsty girl's path.”

 

He saw her expression go from angry to disappointed.

 

_ Like a child _

 

“Since the Hound went with them, surely I'll have no chance to killing his brother either. The red woman is halfway across the world, and Dondarrion probably froze at the wall.”, she said letting out a sigh.

 

_ Oh, lovely girl _

 

“The horses need hay.”, she said, brushing her thoughts away.

 

He followed her through the long corridor, which was only lightened by a single torch. They reached the hay stock. The air in the room was not as damp as outside, so it felt like it was less freezing. She started to pile up a little heap.

 

“A man is sorry he could not tell you more, he knows how sweet vengeance tastes.”, he said walking by. His steps were slow and silent, there was no way she could have guessed he had moved, so when he whispered in her ear, strands of his hair tickling her cheek and warm air brushing against her skin, she was surprised, and he could almost feel the shivers go down her spine as he lay a hand on the small of her back.

 

“But a man can show a girl something that tastes much sweeter.”

 

He waited for her reaction, and run his teeth from the back of her ear to the side of her neck, leaving a wet trail, his gloved hands wandering on her waist.

He heard a sigh come out from her mouth, but it was nothing like her precedent one. It screamed of want, and he felt himself grow hard under the many layers of leather he was wearing.

 

He heard that sound, and he knew she was biting her lip.

 

She slowly put the hay she had collected back on the haystack, and turned her head to look at his glistening, lustful eyes. Her cheeks were burning red. They had not done anything, not even kissed since the night she had come to meet him in his bedroom. They had not been alone, and he had not come to her room. He wanted her to find the courage to come back to his room by herself, however long that would take. He knew she craved him too, he could see the sparkle in her eyes when he talked to her, or by the way she squeezed her knees together when he touched her hand sometimes during the meals in the great hall. He did not want to brusk things, he knew she would eventually be the undertaking one, but waiting like that had let him a lot of time to think about her.

 

Truth was, he hungered for her like a depraved man. Since he had had a taste of her sweet, snowy flesh, keeping his hands off her was pure torture, and keeping his eyes away from her perfect, gentle curves was nearly impossible. Every time they would find themselves at night, he had imagined how they could have spent the night loving each other instead of fighting. On the bare, snowy ground, or against a tree, in an inn, nearby some lit fireplace on the carpeted floors…He had pictured how he could have heard her scream his name over and over, panting under him instead of hearing the unceasing clash of their steel.

 

_ A much more tempting melody _

 

He turned her frame quickly, and connected their mouths, his tongue invading through her parted lips. She let out a moan, and he gripped her waist and sat her on the stack, holding her very close from him. He felt her arch her back, and he started unlacing the tight leathery coat that she was wearing, and that he had dreamed to rip off so many times before, always having to restrain himself.

 

_ Ah, the things we do for decency _

 

His fingers were deft and quick, and he teared her chemise open. In the time of one kiss, she found herself completely bare chested in front of him, his hands already owning her bosoms. Although it was very dark in the room, he could guess their shape perfectly.

 

They parted for air, and she seriously wondered if he ever took the time to breathe before taking an erect nipple in his mouth and circling his hot tongue around it. His hands traveled down and found the laces of her pants. Her fingers were twirling in his hair, not quick enough to follow.

 

_ Good. _

_ If she does anything to a man, he will not be able to restrain himself _

 

He wanted to be the one making her feel good. He also craved her touch and the feeling of her soft fingers against his golden flesh, but he would not be able to keep any kind of control if she moved further, although he knew that they both wanted her to. But she was not ready to fully lose control yet. But maybe just a tiny bit.

 

He pulled her pants down and threw them carelessly on the dusty floor. She took his head in her hands and connected their lips again, their tongues dancing in his mouth, and she began untying his furry coat to reveal his perfect, muscular torso. Before her hands could reach his bare skin, he ripped her small clothes off and hovered over her, forcing her to lie back on the hay. His mouth traveled from her chin to her neck, then to her breasts and stomach. His hands rested on the junction where her thighs met her hips. He started moving further down, leaving a few kiss-marks here and there.

His head was now at her core.

As his hands began to part her legs, he felt her lift her head up.

 

“Wait what are you doi- 

 

“Lie down, lovely girl”, he said, taking one little hand in his.

“and let your master take care of you.”

 

First, he kissed, waiting for her reaction. Then, with one long and slow stroke, he licked her swollen nub, and she squeezed her eyes shut and arched her back, her mouth opening. He could hear she was doing her very best not to moan too loud.

 

_ Proud girl _

_ Not for long _ , he thought, as he licked again, tortuously slow, and again, again, again…

 

She grabbed a fistful of forage and curled her toes, having a hard time keeping her hips from moving.

 

-Oh!”, he heard her cry out.

 

But he went on. He drew circles with his hot tongue, slightly nipped and dipped, sending shivers and waves of heat in her whole body. He held her hips sturdily, and prevented any movement. He heard her breath accelerate, and felt her frame tremble as a wave of wetness coated his tongue. She tasted of sweet petals and fresh snow.

 

_ A man is only beginning, lovely girl _

 

He moved faster, rougher, and gently rubbed two of his fingers around her folds, trying to hold her hips still with his other arm, as it was more and more difficult. 

 

“No more! You're killing me-”, she said in her smothering voice, as she clutched at his arm.

 

She was moaning louder and louder, and he could hear the hay scratching against her back. The sound of her gasps and broken voice was only encouraging him more. He pushed his fingers in her, and they slid perfectly in and out, stretching her soft and warm walls ever so tortuously. Each time he pushed deeper and licked more roughly, the sound of a strangled moan and her convulsing inner walls as a reward.

She was scratching at his arm, powerfully pinning her down, crying out, as a call for mercy. He knew he was turning her crazy, he felt her muscles contract at the rhythm of his strokes, but he ruthlessly continued.

 

_ Come on, lovely girl _

_ Say it _

_ **S** **cream** it _

 

He accelerated his pace even more, and  he knew she could see white spots dancing around ,  her knuckles white from holding onto  his scratch-marked arm so tight , moving her head in all directions.  She looked so beautiful like that, his lovely girl, driven by wants and peasure instead of vengeance, her cheeks reddened and her hair ruffled, as her man was dining of her.  He felt the slight coat of sweat on her skin , but went on with his ministrations, pitilessly turning her mad until he got what he wanted.

 

“Oh Jaqen!!!”, she finally shrieked. 

 

She could have woken up the whole castle, Jaqen did not care. All that mattered at this precise moment was his panting lovely girl, savoring the sweetness of his abilities, just like he was savoring her sweet taste of winter. 

 

A final lap, a quick suckle at his drenched fingers.

 

“A girl tastes delightful.”

 

He brought his mouth to hers, drenched in his victory, and allowed her to taste herself on his lips, before freeing her mouth to let her retrieve her breath. She talked, still shaking from the aftershocks.

 

“Seven hells, I'm never going back to just your fingers after thi-”

 

They both heard the sound of footsteps on the snow. They were far, but the two of them needed to leave quickly. She tried to stand up, but he caught her before her trembling knees could hit the ground. He swiftly gathered the remains of her clothes and she tried to figure out how to cover herself with the rags. He helped her climb the wall, she was struggling and tired, but she would refuse his help if he proposed to carry her to her bed, like the romantic in him wanted to. They got out thanks to the hole in the roof, which was right below a balcony leading to their quarters. He felt even more triumphing when he noticed that her legs were still shaky when her feet finally touched the ground again.

 

_ Someday, a man wants to see her unable to walk _

_ A man will love her all night and all morn if need be, not allowing her to sleep until she is exhausted _

 

“A girl has a good night.”, he said, slightly bowing.

 

“Stay with me!”, she said, grasping his arm, re-arranging her teared chemise to cover her naked bosoms underneath. Not that she needed to conceal them from him.

 

“Is a girl not satisfied yet?”, he asked, smirking.

 

“What about you? A girl wants to satisfy you too…”, she said, and he knew she tried to sound seductive. And oh- she achieved it.

He hesitated, she knew he was.

 

“A girl wants to taste you too…Wouldn't a man like that, a girl on her knees, her lips wrapped around him?”, she said, but she spoke with her eyes, sparkling with lust.

 

He smiled as he felt himself grow hard, so hard he wondered if the leather pants could hold him.

 

It was pure torture.

There was no way he could hold himself if he spent the night in her bed.

He knew he would regret this until the day he would leave this world, but he refused.

 

“It is late, and a girl is tired.”, he said, carefully not touching her, fearing that the contact of their lust impregnated flesh would make him change his mind in the blink of an eye. He did not dare look at her. He knew it was not the answer she was expecting. Only a fool would have refused.

 

_ Not even a fool. Only a degenerated, a madman _

 

He bowed. 

“A man and a girl have training tomorrow.”, he said, walking away.

 

He entered his room, latched the door immediately, and just lingered here, his back against the heavy wood. He did look like a madman, his hair a mess, his face in his hands.

He quickly unlaced the ties of his pants and breeches, watched himself spring out.

 

He took himself in hand, and it almost ached.

“ _Wouldn't a man like that, a girl on her knees, her lips wrapped around him?”_

 

_ Seven hells, where did she even learn those words?! _

 

But he thought about it, how her eyes would look at him from down there, innocent and fearless, as he would fill her until she could not take him anymore, thrusting in, out, back in, back out…

 

The picture in his head almost felt real, as he stroke himself going north then south, feeling the tension build up. He entered this zone of frenzy, where the line between reality and fantasy would blur, where insanity would take over reason.

 

He felt the thick, warm liquid on his calloused hands.

In his mind, on her pleased face, as she licks the remaining off him.

 

He started to take control over himself again, tried to calm his heavy breathing as he looked for a cloth to clean himself with.

 

_ The God has other plans for this girl _

 

_ I am so damned _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys ;) I figured a bit of smut for the week-end wouldn't be so bad, so there you go :P Please leave a comment, your feedback is really important to me ;)  
> I wish you a wondeful week my Jaqarya shippers <3


	11. The Bird's Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello fellow shippers, I hope you will enjoy this week's chapter ;)  
> As always, please take the time to leave a comment, your feedback means so much to me :)  
> I wanted to thank all of you who are reading for keeping up with my little story, I know it's amateur and probably full of grammatical mistakes too, but I put all my love into it :)  
> 

The sun was rising outside the walls of Winterfell as Sansa followed the stable boys.

 

“Look m'lady! The hole in the roof lets the snow through and the hay gets all soaked! And then the farmer gets angry at us because the horses aren't-”

 

“Will you let the Lady Sansa alone!” the farmer arrived running and shouting at the boys.

“She has more important problems to take care of than your drenched hay!”

 

“Everything is fine, farmer Fillyp, don't worry.”, Sansa said, gently looking at the two muddy faces of the young boys. She went to look at the size of the whole.

 

“I'm worried we won't have the supplies, the grains stock's roof broke too and it's definitely more important to cover those...”

 

_But what is…_

 

Something caught her attention on a pile of forage. She picked up the fancy piece of fabric and looked at it frowning.

 

_I know this color… And the fabric is way too smooth for it to be a sweeping rag…_

 

“I am so sorry milady, this place is filthy, it is no place for a lady like you. Boys, you should be ashamed of dragging the Lady Sansa in your dirty-”

 

“Everything is fine Fillyp.” Sansa said, a grin on her face.

“Boys, tie some hay in logs, go to the balcony and throw the logs on the roof. It should prevent the snow from getting in, it'll do for now.”, she added, her smile expanding. She left so quickly that she did not even hear the boys' thanks.

 

_I know exactly what piece of fabric this is_

 

She entered her sister's room without knocking, and found her washing her face off a wooden bucket.

 

“Sansa! That's nothing like you, why didn't you kno-”

 

The grin she was wearing was so unusual that it made Arya shut and wonder.

 

She slowly took her hands from behind her back and shoved the fabric at her little sister's face.

 

“Guess I won't get _that_ riding chemise back.”, she said smirking.

 

At the sight of the ripped piece of blue fabric, Arya's eyes widened a little and her expression became serious.

 

“You gave it to me because you said it was too small and that my clothes looked too raggedy.”, she answered coldly, staring at the fabric.

 

“I did not give it to you to find it in shreds around the castle! Come on Arya, what did you do to it?”

 

She could see her sister's unease, and her cheeks turning red. She tried to look at her in the eyes but could not get her to cooperate. Her smirk grew larger.

 

“Arya?”, she outed mockingly.

 

She let the silence grow her sister's embarrassment.

 

“Did you _get_ someone to _help_ you ripping this off?”

 

She frowned.

“That's none of your business! I do what I want with my clothes!”, she said aggressively.

 

Despite Sansa knowing about her sister's deadly activities, she was not afraid of her. Indeed, her behavior made her inwardly chortle.

 

_She's so cute_

 

She understood that she would not get more explanations by teasing her, so she tried another approach. Arya was not an easy one to trick, most of the time she only got her to speak with her because she wanted to too. But she had to try this time.

 

“Fine. Maybe I'll ask Jaqen if **he** has the remaining pieces so that I can sew it back together then-”

 

“You won't!”, her alarmed sister quickly answered, blocking the door with her arm.

“Fine. I surrender. You would've figured out anyway.”

 

She saw that Arya tried to hide her smile but she could not help raising her brow.

 

“I… may… have gotten some help from him?”, she finally said, biting her lip, still not looking at her in the eyes.

 

The sisters chortled, and Arya eventually looked at Sansa's amused grin.

 

“I'm going to need more details than this.”, she said, pulling an ottoman to sit on.

“How did it feel, did you bleed? And on the raw hay, really?”, she asked blushing, shaking her head as she sniggered.

 

“Wait- no, we-, I mean we just-We didn't…”, Arya said, embarrassed, twisting her fingers.

She took a deep breath, and acted as if they were talking about the weather. She was really not comfortable with the subject, and it was no usual thing for her, to be the uncomfortable one.

 

“It was… the Lorathi, but we didn't… are you sure you want to talk about it?”, she said, wonder in her eyes.

 

Arya knew what her sister had had to go through when she was married to Ramsay Bolton. She clearly did not have a great experience with men and she did not want to offend her by saying something stupid.

 

But Sansa smiled back at Arya and said with her soft voice.

 

“I'm fine now Arya, you don't need to worry about what you could say to me. We are sisters, you can tell me everything. If he hurts you, I'll send all my men after him, but that does not seem to be the case. I would be glad to gush about the things he does to you, if you feel about it too.”

 

He cheeks turned slightly red too.

 

“I have a question, it's a little indiscreet, but I'd like to know...”

 

“Go on.”

 

“Do you still… desire? I mean… with all the things you went through, I could not even imagine, do men… still… attract you?”, she asked shyly. It was extremely rare for Arya to look unsure, even rarer since their reunion. It truly surprised Sansa with how much delicacy her little sister tried to handle the subject. Her little sister who had always been the harsh one, swearing and being almost rudely honest.

 

It touched her. It really did.

 

“Well, not all of them. A lot of them disgust me, but there are some I still find attractive. I know ladies are not supposed to talk about this, but I don't think that you'll mind… I still desire men the way you desire your Lorathi… tell me, how does it feel?”

 

“How does what feel?”

 

“To experience that with someone you love, and who loves you back?”, she asked, a sparkle in her eyes.

She saw her sister's surprise at the question, she knew she was searching for words. The situation was very odd, Sansa realized brusquely. This kind of discussion was nothing like the discussions she imagined she would have with Arya, back when she was a little girl dreaming about her wonderful future full of princes and southern gowns. When she was a child, not very fond of her little tomboyish sister, she had always imagined, and kind of hoped, even if she regretted it now, that their paths would part at some point. They had to, since her only wish was to be married to the prince and become queen, and she did not mind back then. She never imagined that their lives would be like that, nor that Arya and her would become 'this' kind of sisters.

 

And if someone had told her back then that in a few years the both of them would be back home, speaking about Arya's love life (Arya's love life!), she would have laughed pretty hard before telling this person that there was no way that this 'horseface' would ever find a man who would not find her unbearable.

 

 _Horseface…_ , she thought saddly.

 

True, that her sister was not the pretty sister when they were young. But as Sansa grew, she kept the same looks. She knew men liked her symmetric face, her plumped lips and porcelain skin, her hair kissed by fire. She was still Sansa, Eddard Stark's beautiful daughter.

But Arya, who could have known that the little girl always covered in mud, the one unceasingly fighting with the boys, the North's Horseface could grow into such a beauty?

Her face, once too long and sharp for her small body, had softened, just like her slight curves had appeared. She still looked fierce and arrogant, but it was no surprise that men could not keep their eyes off her. She was not a usual beauty like Sansa or Margaery, or even Cersei, she had something wild, like a fire burning in her making her unapproachable, something dangerous yet incredibly enticing.

 

_Like a winter rose, beautiful and unique with their blue hue, but spiky despite how mesmerizing they look_

 

“Erm… well… When we're together, it's like time has…stopped, it's like the war and the rest of the world don't exist anymore, it's just…I don't, look- I sound like a fool and I can't put it into words and I sound like those stupid Maidens in love from the stupid songs but…It's like the tension builds up and eventually it all… explodes, somehow. I mean, he's…really good…”, she said, her cheeks aflame and chewing on her lower lip.

 

“With… his hands?”, Sansa asked, blushing.

 

“And his… tongue.”, Arya added, trying hard to restrain her grin.

 

“His **tongue**?!”, Sansa responded, not trying to hide her shock.

 

They laughed.

 

_Love..._

 

Sansa wondered if the feeling was similar to when the first time Joffrey had kissed her, when she did not know his true nature. The thought of his lips against her grossed her out now, but back then she truly admired him. She remembered the tingle in her stomach whenever he gave her his attention. The same tingle than when she had met the Hound's gaze again for the first time since that night in King's Landing and their kiss.

 

“So you've never seen… _him_ , right?”

 

“No…”

Sansa saw Arya's expression go a little sad, even behind the proud mask she was hiding behind.

 

“What's wrong? If you're worried about the pain-”

 

“It's not that, it's just…it's very weird. I've tried, you see, to… you know… offered to… But he always leaves. I swear I could've hit him last night when he left me there on the front of my door if I had realized quick enough that he had **actually** refused the offer-”, Arya looked at her sister as if regaining herself, realizing that she said this out loud.

 

“I mean…I don't understand, he acts like he wants me more than anything and after a minute he runs away like he's got enough of me…”

 

It was the first time that Sansa saw hurt on her sister's face. Real hurt, not something that just annoyed her.

 

“He may be waiting for you to be ready.”, she said gently.

 

“Ready?! What the hell is ready?! Because that is turning me insane already, there is no way I can handle more madness!”

 

The room went silent as Arya regained her composure.

 

“Maybe he just thinks I'm boring.”

 

“Arya, if he's bored with you, it's not a woman he needs, it's a fucking tornado.”, she said, and they laughed again. She was not sure if her statement had made her sister so suddenly happier again or just the fact that she had sworn. On purpose, of course. She had gotten this trick from Margaery Tyrell.

 

_When the one in front of you is closing himself up, show them that you are like them, that you understand them_

 

“Well, if you think he's making things go too slowly between the two of you… Then don't give him anything until he's the one going crazy.”, she said, a wicked grin on her face, and it made her sister laugh again.

 

“I did not know you were the tortuous sister.”, she answered, but Sansa knew she liked the idea.

 

_H is **tongue** _

_I cannot say that I know much about pleasure but that seems rather… creative_

 

The room went silent for a minute, and Sansa regained her serious expression.

 

“But, Arya, you should know, you have to be sure and ready before venturing to fully giving yourself to him…You know, even if it looks like it's nothing, your virginity is something precious, and I don't mean politically speaking…Nothing has to be rushed.”

 

Sansa suddenly remembered the horrible nights she had spent with the flayer, torturing her in all kinds of unimaginable ways ladies are not supposed to talk about, in ways not a single person is supopsed to even imagine.

 

“Love…love is so important. He has to be worthy of you.”

 

_And what would it have been like, with someone who truly loved me, and whom I truly loved back?_

 

“Thank you, I know this has been tough for you.”, Arya gently said, placing a hand on top of her sister's.

 

“Maergery Tyrell also told me once that most women don't know what they like until they've tried it.”, she said in response, before realizing she had not said it for her sister but for herself.

 

“I mean, they don't know how to please either until they've tried it-”

 

“You will find something you like too, someday, Sansa, I'm sure of that. You will find someone who is worthy of you, I won't let them come near you if they are not. Look at Gilly, she eventually found love, even after everything she went through, there was someone waiting for her.”

 

Sansa could recall what Jon had told her and Arya about Gilly's baby. They had come to him once when he was alone and asked how it was that Samwell did not loose his head at the Night's Watch after fathering a bastard. He had told them about this filthy keep beyond the wall they had found the poor pregnant girl in, where only old Craster and his many daughters and grand-daughters lived. He did not need to further explain about who was fathering all the daughters, and the girls did not venture to ask what happened to the sons, but it all had turned Sansa's stomach upside down. She could only look at Gilly with profound empathy now, and at the lad with all her respect for taking the cloak of the dishonored man to keep the ones he loved from the cruelness of others.

 

“The Hound and I talked.”, she said, raising her sister's attention.

 

“I still don't know about the kiss, but we had a long conversation in the Godswood before he left. He knew I did not want him to leave.”

 

“Why didn't you want him away? I thought this ugly face repulsed you, not having him cursing and spitting all around should be a release.”

 

“I guess I got used to that face…”, Sansa answered, thinking about their conversation.

 

“ _I'm sorry little bird, for the way these monsters have treated you.”, he had said_ _with his growling voice_ _, caressing her left cheek with one of his huge, calloused yet soft hands._ _She remembered how his hand had felt against her skin,_ _feathery and unsure, he did not linger, it was not even properly touching, rather brushing_ _._ _But h_ _is touch was nothing like she had experienced before. It was not expecting, like Littlefinger's, it did not disgust her like Ramsay's or Joffrey's._ _When his hands ghosted around her face, or when his gaze was upon her, she could feel the fear in him, like he was afraid of breaking her with his harsh features._

 

 _Crazy, the_ _weaknesses of men_ _, she had thought._

 _He has gone to war, he has killed more people than he can remember, left the Kingsguard in the middle of a battle, yet there are still two things that_ _he_ _was not at ease with_ _._

 _Fire, and_ _touching me_ _._

 

_He had always been harshly honest with her, not protecting her from the reality. She had been thankful for that, not as a traumatized little girl in King's Landing, but later on, when she reflected and truly got the meaning of the things he had taught her._

 

_A slow learner_

 

_But this time, she felt like he was hiding something from her, and she knew exactly what that thing was. He did not volunteer to go to King's Landing to rescue an ally to the North, as devoted as he was to the army of the Living. She knew that he was going to finally get his revenge on his brother. She had heard stories of what the Mountain had become._

_'A moving corpse', 'Lifeless heap of steel and muscles'_ _were the terms used to speak of him._

 

_She had put her gloved hand atop of his._

 

“ _Come back to me, Sandor.”_

 

_She had realized with the years that he had been the most honest person she had ever met. True, that he cursed and that he was not the most pleasant man she had ever seen, but he did not lie, and most importantly, he did not lie to himself. She recognized that she needed someone to trust, someone who would not be afraid of telling her the truth. And deep inside, she knew that he needed her too. The way he looked at her made her understand how precious she was to him. She was the only one who saw that he was not the monster he looked like, she was the only one to see the man beneath the scars and the intimidating cloak, despite even himself denying the fact that this man still existed after all the things he has done._

 

_But she did not care about all the things that he had done. She did not want him to explain her his reasons, she just trusted him. Maybe it was stupid, she had thought before, to trust a murderer only based on her instinct, but it had worked out until now._

 

_He had smiled, and she had noticed a sparkle in his eyes, before he pressed his lips against her forehead. She had been surprised by how soft his lips were, compared to the rough look of his skin._

 

“ _I will, little bird._ _And when I do, you'll sing me that song about Florian and Jonquil you still owe me._ _”_

 

She related the conversation to Arya, carefully leaving the part whence he kissed her, although it had been an innocent, chaste peck. She also left out the fact that he called her 'little bird', she was not sure about why, but she kind of wanted this endearment to remain between the two of them. She did not feel guilty, as she was sure that her sister kept some intriguing details concerning her foreign assassin too.

 

“He might not be the most honorable, but he is the most sincere. If he does not return...”

 

“He will, Sansa, I know it.”, Arya cut her sister's concern.

“I've tried before, and believe me, he's tough to kill.”, she said, smiling, as if reading her sister's emotions.

 

*

 

 _The Hound, who would have known she would fall for this brute?_ , Arya thought.

 

  
  
  
  



	12. All Hail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! First of all, I want to apologize for not being able to update this week-end, I've been pretty busy so I had some trouble finishing this chapter :/ But here it is ;) I hope I didn't mess it up by rushing it a little bit, again, sorry for that :P I hope you'll like it anyway, chapters are getting a little longer so I hope I'll be able to keep up in the future ;) Enjoy the reading and please, leave a little comment, I'm super happy whenever I get feedback :)  
> Artist's Instagram: @emmney.art

As always, he was leaning against the stable's stone wall, eating what was probably dried meat and a not so warm anymore soup of grains off a wooden bowl. The pause he allowed his pupils during lunch was always very short, there was no time to stroll around. He was being severe with the young boys he trained, but counter to when he and the other Faceless Men trained her in Braavos, he always made his goals very clear and was wasting no time training them with each weapon. If a boy was better at weaving an ax than a sword, he encouraged him to take that ax every time and improve his skill. She remembered his first course. The children were petrified, the rumor of him being an assassin from Essos had circulated in the whole castle, even Sansa was not sure if it was very safe to put him in charge of such young lads. But he had proven himself very kind and attentive towards them, and they had learned very quickly how to defend themselves from danger.

He was very different when he was not in the House of Black and White, even more different when he was around children. His aura somehow changed, and felt very safe and protective, and it reminded her when they first met in Harrenhal, when she was always seeking him, tricking him into helping her out.

 

He had not told them, and he never would, but Arya knew he grew attached to them, and the first time she realized that something about him was quite fatherly whenever he was around younger ones, something in her had stirred. He really wanted them to survive this war, and the way he looked at them sometimes was full of hopes and wonders. This peculiar look on his face seemed so odd and so right at the same time, and it must have been something unusual for him too. He had only trained people to become faceless before, and who could grow attached to someone who was no one? He had inculcated the apprentices joining the guild the values of the many faced god, taught them the way to lie with a perfectly blank face, how to fight and kill without a sound, but never had he enjoyed before the different personalities of his pupils. His only exception had been Arya Stark. She could remember him visiting her room in the depth of the night, the bright shine of the moon, high in the essoan sky, as only source of light, waking her to recite the old verses written on the walls of the House of Black and White, giving the Faceless Men a holy purpose. He always asked her who she was, hoping she would answer, not a trace of Arya Stark on her face. She always failed, she knew. And he knew too that Arya Stark would never truly disappeared from her being, but he came back every night despite her reticence to abandon the essence of Arya Stark. They would recite the verses with that same perfectly blank face. When Arya thought about these evenings again, she realized that not only her, but the both of them did not believe a single word from the verses the repeated for so many nights. As soon as she embraced her identity, he followed her and did the same.

 

_Make him crazy, Sansa said, but he left a guild he was in for more than two decades just so he could see me once again, he didn't even know if I would turn him down or not, isn't that crazy already?_

 

She blushed.

Jaqen, a faceless assassin that everyone is scarred about, abandoning everything, just for her-

 

_Damn it! When did I become a daydreaming lassie in love?!_

 

She took a deep breath, as if to breathe the unwanted thoughts out, but then he probably felt observed and looked up the balcony she was standing on, and caught her staring, and she could not help but blush again before looking away.

 

_Drive him crazy_

_Not as easy as it sounds_

_Maybe we'll just do the same thing he does to us, set him on fire and then leave._

 

She went down the stairs, trying to walk a little slower than usual, easing her expression and smirking a bit in order to look seductive, making her way to him.

 

_You look like a fool-_

_Shut up,_ she cut that annoying little voice in her head.

_Drive him crazy…_

_You're funny Sansa_

_Not as easy as it sounds when I don't have your looks_

 

“Isn't it too freezing to train outside?”, she asked, not knowing how to start the conversation.

 

_Great. The weather. What a promising discussion-_

_Shut-the-fuck-up, we can do this_

 

“A man was given something to keep him warm.”, he said, waving at the heap of furs sewed together, held by a leather belt tied tightly around his waist, serving him as a coat. But it was way to big for his lean frame, and it would probably suit Samwell Tarly much better.

 

_Perfect_

 

“Hm… it doesn't suit you, a girl has to admit she prefers you without it.”, she said, trying to make her voice a little deeper than usual, running her bare hand on the fur covered in snowflakes.

“Actually, I think I prefer you without any clothing at all…”, she added, not able to restraint a little grin.

 

_Great, now we sound like a damn wanton-_

 

“Ah…”, he answered, his eyes not hiding the amused expression, his smirk not hiding the obvious want rising in him.

 

She bit her lip, she knew that it would be the end of him.

 

_Maybe I am just a damn wanton_

 

He caught her wandering hand, which was red from the cold, and whispered with his growly voice.

“You are freezing, lovely girl…maybe a man will sacrifice some training time to warm you up, yes? Although he does not know if his pupils will agree with that…”

 

“They had you all morn, it is a girl's turn now…”, she said, dragging him through the door behind them, her eyes not leaving his. His gaze was alight, almost electrifying, somehow sending shivers through her whole frame.

 

_To drive him crazy is one thing_

_But to drive him more crazy than I am is something else entirely_

_How am I going to do that if even his stares, I can't vie with?_

 

The room was a small one, where training weapons were kept from the snow. As soon as the door was closed and they were hidden from curious wandering eyes, he tackled her against it and made the wood crack and the steel handle jangle, and his lips met hers hungrily. They felt soft yet wild, and he was like a beast savoring his freshly caught prey. Like predators instinctively chase preys, their hands wandered naturally all around the other's body, and their kisses were like a dance they never learned, sending sparks of lust and love, playing dangerously with the explosiveness of both their wanting bodies. It was like distorted passion at it's pure state was laying inside of her, and only he could unravel it, only he could make her understand this strange yet simple, carnal desire. And Gods, it worked. Every thing was crystal clear whenever his hands were on her body, like everything was where it is meant to be in this crazy world.

 

_Damn it_

_Maybe this is going to be more difficult_

_His lips were_ **made** _for kissing_

 

Despite the cold outside, his flesh felt warm and soft. She played with a few strands of his wavy hair, damp and fresh from the snowflakes who had lost themselves too in the fiery red. She felt his hands trap her in a tight embrace, and she felt the blood rush through her whole body. She felt the hot air coming from his lungs brush against the sides of her face, and want was slowly consuming the both of them. She wrapped a leg around his waist, and he caught the both of them, and lifted her so their heads would be at the same level, and crashed her back against the wall. She could feel the uneven stones scratch her back through the leather, and his hips held her in place while his hands cupped one of her breast and buttocks.

 

Thinking became difficult, and her hands started to wander all around his concealed body.

 

“Fuck, I truly hate this coat.”, she said before quickly untying the belt and slipping her hands underneath the also oversized shirt he was wearing underneath. His skin was burning hot, and the contact made her whimper, and she felt want at it's liquid state between her thighs, and the tension in her stomach grew.

 

_Control_

_Keep… control_

 

_Damn it, if this lasts just ten more seconds I'll lose it-_

 

“Milord!”, they both heard from a far.

 

She almost felt disappointed that her plan worked. But none of it could be seen on her face as she giggled quietly.

 

“Shhh…if a boy starts looking near the stable where a man usually is, we still have some time…”

 

She laughed. A wicked laugh, this time.

 

_He won't._

 

She had observed his pupils looking for him before, this place was the first they would scout.

Maybe he would need to teach them logic too, but she had not chosen the room she would drag him in at random, moreover, it was the only door which could not be latched. The old wood cracked again as the door burst open, and a young man, entered the dark and narrow room. He was the cook's son, Maik. He was very small and chubby for his age of ten and two, and he was the youngest pupil Jaqen was training. She only had the time to jump back on her feet, and he, to turn his back to the lad, to hide the fact that his chest was exposed. Indeed, he would have quite a nice time explaining the children what he was doing half naked in a dark room with the princess of the North.

 

“Oh- lady Arya, I wasn't expecting you-”

 

“I was needing someone to help me transport all these for my lesson today.”, she said, fully composed, waving at the wooden panels with an aim painted on them on her right.

 

“There, be useful and carry one or two to the great yard, will you?”, she asked gently, and he did as he was bid. He did not look suspicious, so she assumed he believed the lie. He was a child, so he did not take the ruffled hair, the reddened cheeks and the kiss swollen lips into consideration.

 

She turned to Jaqen, who had meanwhile regained his composure too and put his coat and hair back in place. But the surprised expression remained in his eyes.

She grinned while taking one wooden panel and walking out of the room. Cold tickled her still pink cheeks, and she took in a gust of freezing air. She felt alive.

 

_This is going to be entertaining_

 

*

 

They were sat at a table in an inn, all three of them hooded, and the Imp had dyed his hair with charcoal before entering the city, hiding his almost white, golden locks. During their journey, the Hound and Gendry had asked him why he was here helping them, but he had only responded that he had some business to deal with in the capital, and they quickly abandoned asking. Theon however, had not talked much nor asked many questions. He had only begged them to hurry their pace, the worried expression on his face growing with time, empathizing the wrinkles and gray hair he had since his time with the Bolton bastard. He looked even older than he did before because of unceasingly wearing this face. They had traveled quickly, and one of the horses had to be put down as soon as they reached the capital. But that was not a problem, since they would travel back on the Greyjoy fleet that had been partly rebuilt and concealed as fishing boats in the city's smallest port since their arrival, almost a moon ago. They had been told to wait, and live as fishers until the others would arrive, and the Imp had been surprised that they had obeyed and not mindlessly attacked the castle like other Greyjoy fighters would have.

 

“I know the castle, it's secret corridors and everything. Your men should attack the east wing to draw the soldiers in that direction. This way, they'll be trapped if this walls fall down.”, Tyrion said quietly, pointing at walls on the little map he had rolled out on the wooden table.

 

“And how 're we supposed to bring those down?! That wall's the thickest in the whole damned castle, it holds at least two towers!”, the Hound said.

 

“Everything is about hitting at the right moment. Once the iron-borns are attacking these towers, the guards are going to rush in the direction of the attack. When there are a consequent amount of them, we only need to destroy these two walls here for the entire towers to collapse.”

 

“And how do you intend on destroying them? Speaking them smart words 'til they fall by themselves?”, Clegane added with his usual ironical and aggressive tone.

 

“The maester's laboratory is right beneath, you will go fetch the plans we need. It will be easy, it's never guarded. Once you have them, you set the room on fire. The wildfire that I will have disposed in the secret passageways will do the rest.”

 

“Fire?! And what Wildfire?! The cunt used it all to blow out the Sept of Baelor!”

 

“Not all of it, and one barrel should be enough. I know this is a lot to ask to you, but you're the only one who can do it, Theon will be looking for the Greyjoy queen and Gendry for Ellaria Sand-”

 

“And what about you?! You still haven't told us why you were here! If it's to reunite with the whores of this shitty place's brothels you could've stayed safe in Winterfell!”, he cut him, speaking the name “Winterfell” more quietly.

 

“I will be in the castle, I cannot tell you why but you will figure out soon enough.”, the Imp answered clenching his teeth.

 

“And what 'that mean!?”, the former Knight growled, hitting the table with both his fists.

 

A few heads turned to their direction, and the Hound ducked his, aware that his scars would betray him. The Imp ran a hand through his dyed hair, dirtying it with black stains.

 

“You have to trust me, there is no other choice. Gendry and you, Theon, should have enough time to free Yara and Ellaria, the cells will be the first place to be empty of guards if there is an attack. As soon as we are all done with our tasks, we all embark on your disguised ships. Make sure to cover the women's faces as you walk through the city, they are quite recognizable…”

 

The Greyjoy boy sighed and looked at the smith who had not said a word.

 

“Seems good to me, but you should find that Wildfire quickly, the more time we lose here, the less we'll be able to help for the Great War.”, he said with an expecting look.

 

“I know exactly where to find it.”, the Imp said emptying his cup of watery wine.

 

The group of soldiers sitting next to them, drinking, started talking about the 'Golden company' that the Lannister Knight had told them about when he arrived at Winterfell.

 

“What d'ya know about the golden company? Surely it's nothing good for us either.”, the Hound growled.

 

“I know it was founded by a legitimized Targaryen bastard many years ago, with the help of a Blackfyre. There used to be ten thousand men, and half as much horses, but I don't know how many Euron could transport with his armada. Last time I checked, one they call Homeless Harry was the commander of this troop of exiles.”, the imp began.

 

The Hound sighed and stared blankly at his empty cup of ail at the sound of the number.

 

“I thought Blackfyre was the name for Targaryen bastards?”, Gendry said frowning.

 

The lion smiled at the young stag's ignorance.

 

“Well, it was at first, but then the Blackfyres formed a house of their own. They started their own dynasty, and eventually became part of the noble ones. They kept the inverted Targaryen colors on their banners, a black dragon on a red background, as a tribute to their origins.”, he added.

 

_Right_ , he thought, _bastards invert the colors of the banners_

 

The young boy realized that this was the true reason why the banners of the bastard King in the north were a white wolf standing on a gray background.

 

_The colors had been inverted because he is a bastard too, not because of the color of his pet Ghost, although that's a kinda poetic coincidence._

 

The smith smiled, inwardly thinking about dyeing a stag's hairs gold in order for his pet to also match his bastard's banners.

 

_A golden stag on a dark background, that would look quite good at the windows of the rich quarter's houses_ , he thought, his grin expanding on his now bearded face.

 

They had not had the time to shave on their journey, and the boy had had no intention to. The bristles made him look more 'royal', more like a man in his mind. He liked to think that he looked similar to how King Robert looked in his youth, but he had no true idea about how the King looked. Even during his reign, and during the boy's life in King's Landing, he had never seen the King closely, only from a far, and no more than a few times. But his black, long beard and his heavy allure was quite memorable. King Robert had been a ruler who was appreciated from the people, which was very rare these times apparently. He had heard people in the streets whisper things about the Queen, call her the Mad Queen in secret since the explosion of the Sept of Baelor. Her cruelty was widely known in Westeros, but the people who feared her the most were those who were the closest from her. He also knew people were afraid of speaking the truth about her, they were afraid of what the Mountain could do to them. There were rumors of him crushing people's skulls in the streets, after they had outed their minds about the ruthless ruler.

 

The loud snickers of the soldiers distracted him from his thoughts. They were ten sitting at a table, obviously drunk from all the ail they had been drinking since they got in, being louder the more stoned they were.

 

“Did ya hear 'bout the Young Griff'? The boy who claimed to be Aegon Targaryen, the son of prince Rhaegar and Elia Martell? Well, da poor boy died of some disease they say, so we'll never know if it was really him or nay in the end.”

 

“I heard they found another noble bastard, a Baratheon, this time! From the Stormlands, they say he's named Edric, a boy of ten and three.”, a drunken guard spat out quite loud.

 

“Nah, that golden cunt had them all killed, before they could claim the throne away from her incestuous products.”,another man said, putting the pitcher of ail down on the table again.

 

Heads turned to the man who had just insulted the queen, worried looks on them. The man who had dared such a thing stood up, looked at one of the windows after removing the steam.

 

“No trace of that beast! We can shout how much we would like that cunt to get impaled on one of those swords her throne is made out of as loud as we want!”

 

There was the sound of laughs and clapping.

 

“That's bull's shite, they couldn't've had the throne, Stannis would've torched them before they enter the throne room. He was the legit heir.”

 

“Ey', I would've accepted no King who torches his own children because a witch told him to!”, one said chortling.

 

“Rememba' we'r' fightin' for a woman who blew a whole Sept full of peeps? I'd go for the fanatic if I had a choice!”

 

“Legitimacy is bullshit. This place should me more like Dorne.”, another guard said, with a clear Dornish accent that empathized his Southern traits.

 

“Prince Oberyn used to say that bastards are born out of passion, and that we should not despise them. If not for his wife's life, I wouldn't be here fighting for that blonde bitch.”

 

Gendry looked down at his hammer. He had removed the Stag ornamentation and left it in Winterfell, because it was safer not to wander in King's Landing with such symbolic.

But deep inside he kind of wished he had kept it, just to show those drunk guards that he was the one they should be fighting for, that he had a greater claim on the throne than the Queen they served.

 

“If Ellaria Sand is still alive, then there is hope that my sister is too. If we free them both, we'll have the Dornishmen with us again.”, he heard the Iron-born whisper to him.

 

Gendry looked back at the drunk soldiers.

 

“Aye, she doesn't despise the bastards when they're hers. She's 'bout to pop the fourth one out any moment now, another golden crowned bastard who'll put his precious little incestuous arse on that throne.”, one of them said, spitting half his ail whilst talking.

 

“Well, it'll either be golden crowned or silver crowned, I heard the dragon bitch's also preggers,”

 

“This place will be ruled by bastards whatever the hell happens, we should've put one of Domise's bastard on the throne while we had a chance, the Fat King's favorite cunt, at least their dear papa fought for it, and all was well 'til he perished. Fookin' wildpig.”, the tanned one said.

 

“Da' Targ' bitch was fooked by one of her dragons or what? Ha! I heard she was the most beautiful woman in the world, maybe Euron found his way to her bed!”

 

The whole inn burst into laugh.

 

“Nah, surely the bastard King was the one who screwed her, he's all 'bout crazy white stuff. 'White Wolf, White Whore, White Walkers!'”

 

They all snorted, spitting their ail, raising their goblets.

 

“All hail Ned Stark's bastard! Better not get burned with that dragon in your bed!”

“Aye!”, they all shouted, toppling their drinks.

 

  



	13. The rising flames

 

“You have to bend over! If you sit straight, you'll fall!”, she shouted.

 

She was smiling, and it made her look even more divine. He tried bending over, but nearly fell as the dragon accelerated, and she laughed.

 

“I'm glad to see that this entertains one of us!”, he shouted, laughing too.

 

They were not far from the ground, and the dragons flew low over the fields covered in snow. From here, the North looked even more vast than it seemed. Even if he needed to train more to be able to fly as good as she was flying, Jon truly loved being in the air. He felt the freezing wind brush against his cheeks. Whenever he mounted this green and bronze beast and was at the same level than the clouds, the problems he had on the ground disappeared for a moment. Just for a while, he was no longer King in the North, the army of the dead was not his matter anymore. It was only him, making one with this gigantic creature, piercing through the white sky of winter.

 

“I didn't say plunge!”

 

He sat again, adjusting his position. He looked over to the side to his queen to mimic her position. Her back was a perfect, straight line, and the wind was playing with the short strands of her silver hair. Even though she was wearing a thick coat, Jon could guess a slight curve of her belly.

 

She was bearing his child.

 

He remembered when she had told him, three moons from now. 

 

_ They were in his room in Winterfell, the room he was given as a boy. Of course, as a King, he was allowed the parental suite, but he had preferred to leave it to Sansa, as she was the true ruler of the castle. She was the one taking care of the business inside the castle.  _

 

_ The fire was crackling in the chimney, and they were under the furs. He had noticed her breast being a little more generous than before. She had taken his hand and placed it on her bulge, bellow her belly-button. He remembered looking deeply into her purple eyes before the realization hit him. _

 

A little one

Ours

 

_ He had smiled, his eyes watering a little bit, and he had tried to keep the composure of a the king that he was. _

 

“ _I told you you should not trust husband stealing witches.”, he had said, before deeply kissing her, traveling down until he was kissing the little, barely noticeable bump._

 

“ _I wonder…”, she said before caressing his thick chestnut curls, “which color will his hair be.”_

 

_ Of course, they both knew about Jon's parentage. Bran had told him the day he had come back home, after the council meeting, and he had told her. No one else knew, except for Sam, his brother and his queen. He did not one other people to know. Maybe he would tell Arya and Sansa, he had thought, but no one else. Maybe he was the heir to the iron throne, but he did not care. He wanted none of those titles, Bastard King of the North suited him, and only because the Northerners semmed to need some kind of ruler. He had never wanted to be King in the North, he had taken this responsibility because someone had to, but he gladly would have left this throne to Robb… And for the iron throne, someone was already in charge of restoring a Targaryen on it. He wanted to see her climb the steps made of steel, she was the only person he wanted to watch rule over the seven Kingdoms, conquer new lands, restore the peace in Westeros, because he knew she would be able to do it. The fire in her burned vividly, she had already proven herself beyond the narrow sea. _

 

“ _Maybe it would resemble my sister's friend's, half like yours, half like mine.”, he said smiling._

 

_ She had laughed, her deep purple eyes sparkling. _

 

“ _She has strange friends, your sister. First this mysterious Essoan assassin, then this Baratheon bastard who can't talk about anything else but his sire and her…”_

 

_ He had gritted his teeth before chortling.  _

 

“ _And his eyes, do you think he'll have two colored eyes, like Tyrion's? One hazel, one purple?”, he had said before kissing her cheek._

 

“ _He or she.”_

 

“ _Right…How much time until we figure it out?”_

 

“ _Seven moons.”_

 

_ He had let out a sigh of release, before trapping her in a powerful embrace. _

 

“ _He…or she, will not know any wars.”, he had told her, or rather promised her, while rubbing the bump in a soothing motion._

 

The thought saddened him suddenly. There were four moons left until this little one would breathe the air of this world, and Westeros was still not ready to fight the army of the dead. They were lucky enough that the heat had slowed the progression of the Night King, but the fact that Cersei had not sent her armies North had caused some serious trouble, and the odds against the living increased day after day.

 

_ But with the Iron-borns soon in King's Landing, the problem should be solved soon _

_ Hopefully it will not be too late _

_ Don't worry little one _ , he spoke inwardly to the infant,  _I will fly you and your mother away in Essos myself if need be, but I will not let any of those creatures get near you._

 

“That's good! Let's go higher! Drogon, eglikta!”

 

“Zaldrīzes, eglikta!”

_ Dragon, higher! _

 

*

 

The growls could be heard up in the air. Bran too, was flying, but as a crow, going along the last river. Daenerys had burned down all the bridges already, so that the White walkers would have to go around the long river, giving the army of the Living extra time to prepare. The army of the undead increased it's number by the day. Their army consisted now of reanimated bears and wolves too, along with all the corpses of the buried ones they found on the road. 

 

It was now dark, and they were all in the great hall again.

 

“We need to leave for the Long lake as soon as the southern armies arrive here. If we travel quick enough, we should be able to trap them before they reach the end of the river. This way, they will be encircled by water and the wall of fire.”, Jon said, standing in the middle of the room.

 

“And how do you intend on convincing the southern armies to come north, your grace? Cersei does not seem to cooperate.”, the lord of the Vale said.

 

“We have men currently in King's Landing. They have a purpose and a plan, they should be hitting in no time. Lord Varys still has spies who will inform us as soon as the mission will be executed.

Maesters, how are the weapons working?”

 

Maester Walkon stood up, a worried look on his face.

 

“I am sorry your grace, but we still have no plans. The maester who constructed the first balista used proportional measurements that we did not achieve to find yet…but we already have a good number of spears, out of dragonglass and out of Valyrian steel.”

 

The maester sat down, and Jon tried his best not to sigh.

 

_ This is bad, if we have nothing to throw the spears with I may have to throw them myself once in the air, and I have trouble just remaining on the dragon so if I have to stand this might turn out to be even more complicated tha- _

 

Samwell Traly cleared his voice, before standing up, holding a vial containing a transparent liquid.

He looked confused, as always, but Jon Snow knew by looking at his expression that he had good news.

 

“I…I may have some more motivating announcement…”, he said with his shy voice.

 

“Go ahead, maester.”, Jon said, nodding.

 

The chubby man stood up with difficulty, although he had lost a lot of weight since the first time Jon had met him at the Wall. Probably thanks to Gilly, who took very good care of him, making sure he still got some sleep at night and did not read from sunset to dawn. The woman had changed a lot too. She did no longer have the juvenile and lost look of a girl on her face, and she had revealed herself very impressive. In no time, she had learned the whole story of Westeros, and had discovered a real passion for books, just like the man she loved, which was even more impressive, considering that she did not even know how to read, a few years from now.

 

Despite Sam fleeing the Citadel, people around the castle still called him 'maester'. He was more educated that maester Walkon, and had helped Jon and the army of the Living more than anyone thanks to his knowledge, so in everyone's mind, he deserved some kind of title suiting to his function. He helped the maester and his apprentices during the day, and kept his nose in books during the night, with the help of Gilly, searching any kind of information that could help them.

 

“A few days from now, Gilly read about a substance from the Island of Skagos, that was used in battle in Westeros before the Valyrian invaded it… I had trouble figuring out what it's use was… but I achieved to find it's composition, so I mixed quicklime with some bones powder, pine resin and-

 

“Get to the point, lord Tarly.”, Jon gently said.

 

“Well… this substance was later replaced with Wildfire, but mostly because of it's color. The green being a more ostentatious color, the Valyrians used it because it gave them more grandeur, but this substance is what was used before by the westerosi, before being totally forgotten. And, according to my experiments, it may be more flammable than wildfire…”, he outed, waiting for their reactions.

 

“Now, the color is rather dull, but it melts steel and even rocks, just like wildfire.”, he added, unsure.

 

Jon smiled, and sighed in release.

 

“Great work, Sam. How much of this fire do you think you could provide us in the remaining time? We should be able to hit in a little more than three moons.”

 

“Well, it's not really the time that's after us, it's the limited supplies. We can have basically unlimited pine resin and the other supplies, but we need to dig to find more of the substance we call 'naphta', but in three moons, we should be able to provide you something like a thousand barrels if we start producing it now, which should just be enough to supply the firewall for just enough time for us to defeat the Night King and the Others.”

 

_ Once the Night King is defeated, there will be only five leaders left to defeat with valyrian steel. Then this fire shall be used for the easiest part, burning the remaining Whites. _

 

_ * _

 

The tension could be felt in the walls of Winterfell. The High Lords  were busy counting every single prop to see how much rations the southern soldiers would need to bring with them when the travel north.

 

_** If ** they travel North,  _ Jon thought.

 

The waiting was unbearable. It was the afternoon now, the mission should be completed, and they knew nothing. 

 

_ If they failed, we need to start building boats and flee to Essos as soon as possible, there is no way we could win against- _

 

“Stop tormenting yourself”,Daenerys said, caressing his cheek in a soothing motion.

 

She saw the wonder in his eyes, and smiled, trying not to show her own fear.

Her touch was calm and soft, unlike his nervous feet incessantly tapping the ground.

 

“it will not bring the news any sooner.”, she said, with the most gentle voice she could.

 

_ This woman…  _

 

He leaned into the touch, his body easing a little bit. They were the only ones in the great hall, expect for Ghost who was lying near the fireplace, probably asleep from hunting all morning. They had been sitting here since the last meal, asked to be disturbed only when Varys had gotten the news of what happened in King's Landing.

 

He cleared his throat before smiling to her. 

 

“I know, but so many lives depend on this, so many people are counting on me, believing in what I say when I'm not even sure that I believe it myself…”, he said sadly.

 

“Jon, whatever happens, this will not be your fault, you did the best anyone could do. These people, they count on you, they believe in you because you are a great ruler, but they know that you are not a God!”

 

“Thank you.”, he said, before pressing a light kiss on her cheek.

 

She smiled, before looking deeply into his eyes.

 

“I need to show you something.”, she said, while removing one leather glove, and taking his bare hand in hers. She eased the belt holding the furs, and revealed her pale, naked bump.

She placed his hand on the side of it, and he felt the warmth coming from her heated skin.

Suddenly, he felt a kick.

His expression changed immediately.

He went from the sad king to the excited boy. Daenerys could see the glimmer in his eyes.

 

“I know what we should name him.”, she said, almost whispered.

 

“I think I have my word to say-”

 

“Robb”

 

He smiled.

_ Robb _

_ He could teach little Robb how to spar _

 

He had thought about what he could name his children before, he had thought about the name Robb before, after his brother's death. He had always admired his brother. He, who had always been better than him at everything. At riding, at sparring, but most of all, he was the trueborn son of Eddard Stark, the true King in the North. He promised himself he would raise his child as well as his own father did. And by 'father', he meant Eddard Stark. He had inculcated all of his children the values of the house they belong to, honour, the sense of duty and loyalty. But he also hoped that his child would be as fierceful as his mother, as brave and that he would have the courage to think and act ahead of his time, and unite foreign realms, like his mother and father did before him. He would teach him the way of wolves but also the way of dragons, and he promised himself that never he would need to hide the dragon-wolf-bred nature of his blood.

 

“And if it's a girl?”, he asked, moving his hands to feel the kicks better. The baby kicked whenever he spoke.

 

H e did not worry about his child being a girl, and he must have been the only man in Westeros to do so. He knew that if his queen would be to birth a little princess, she would never be taught the old ways of the seven Kingdoms, she would never be taught that she would later need to marry to a high lord to access power, nor that she would only ever learn about dancing and bowing.

No, if the Gods decided to bless them with a daughter, he knew she would resemble Arya. People around the castle had always compared her to Lyanna, his mother. A wild and tempered girl, not afraid of showing who she is to the rest of the world, no matter what the law says about how ladies should sit and what they are supposed to do all day long and who they are supposed to marry. But he also knew that she would have a touch of Sansa, and, just like if she was a boy, the fierceness of her mother, the fire within her would burn bright

 

_ The fierceness of Daenerys _

_ The wildness of Arya _

_ The gentleness of Sansa _

 

“Rhaena”, she said. He looked at her, and she gently kissed his lips.

“Rhaella, like my mother, and Lyanna, like yours.”

 

He smiled too, and deepened the kiss.

 

“I love it.”

 

 

“I love you”

 

_ * _

 

War council was over, and the storm was raging outside. The room was quiet, and they did not know what to do. She could not train in the yard with Brienne of Tarth nor Jaqen nor anyone, so she sat there with the others, who could not take care of their usual business either because of the storm, and they were running out of things to say about the White walkers and the situation in the South.

 

“Arrgh! As if we do not have enough problems, we have to deal with boredom now!”, she spat out, making her brother chortle.

 

The fire was cracking in the chimney, and the five of them, Bran, Jon, Sansa, Jaqen and her, were sitting at the great table, staring at the storm through the window. A mere hour ago, they were having a conversation about Jaime Lannister. The man had joined the squad of teachers, and, like everyone, spent his days teaching younger ones. He had been the newest subject of discussion of the maids. He joined them for meals too, but Jon and Daenerys were still worried that e was here to spy on them, and inform Cersei whenever he thought the time was good for her to attack. They had concluded that the man seemed honest, and Varys had advised them to trust him but remain careful about his moves before leaving the room, followed by the Dragon Queen, who tired easily these days due to the pregnancy, still hidden under the furs. 

 

_ She won't be able to conceal it much longer _

 

People around the castle, mostly commoners who liked to gush about pointless stuff already looked at the slight bump with suspicion whenever she got out of the main room, in which she spent most of her time planning with her councilors on how to take care of Cersei with the remaining troops after the army of the Dead was defeated.

But the conversation had bored Arya, just like any other conversation about politics.

 

“It's not funny! I spent my hole day teaching whining girls, and this is what I get? I'll end up all soggy and weak if I spend my days laying around like that, the corpses are going to make light work of me, if I don't die of boredom before.”

 

He laughed, and stood up before unsheathing Longclaw.

 

“Come on, stand up, I just realized I never got to spar with you.”, he said, grinning.

 

“Jon, I'm not going to-”

 

“You said you were bored! Come on, show me what you know.”, he cut her, pointing at Needle with his own sword.

 

“What, in here? With the tables and everything?”, she hissed, looking at Sansa who was smiling too.

 

“Are you afraid?”, he teased her with a smile.

 

“Being stopped by mere furniture is very unlike you.”, Jaqen said, smirking from his seat next to Sansa and Bran. 

 

He knew she would lose. He knew that she knew she would lose. They had both seen Jon spar before, he was really good. If Jaqen would be able to beat him with only a sword as a weapon was questionable, and her master was still better than her, even if she could prevent some of his strikes in advance. She had achieved to take the advantage a few times, but never properly beat him. He had the advantage of the size and the muscles, and, most importantly, the years of training. He was at least ten years older than her and he had joined the faceless as a young boy of eight, when she did as a girl of ten and three.

 

The dragon queen had retired in her room, and they were the only ones left. He removed his cloak and threw it on the wooden bank. She sighed, and did the same before unsheathing Needle with her left hand, her strong hand.

 

“Alright, but don't you dare whine when I beat you.”, she said, arrogance in her eyes. She threw a look at Jaqen before going in front of her brother.

 

_ And you, better enjoy the show because this is the last time someone else than you beats me _

 

“As my lady commands.”, Jon said, mimicking Gendry's Flea Bottom accent. Arya heard her siblings and Jaqen chortle before she attacked first.

 

She wanted to surprise him, but failed, as he expected the strike.

 

_ Unprotected areas _

 

She tried to hit his legs, but he shielded them with his sword and she only found the time to dodge to escape a hit directed towards her hips.

 

_ Shit, he's good _

 

She tried to use her small frame as an advantage to be quicker and attack first, hoping that he would not see at least on of her strikes. But he dodged them all. He had not attacked back, just countered her strikes, taking a step back at each one of them. She wanted to make him hit the bench and fall, but he just climbed it, and then they were both and the heavy wooden table.

 

He plunged, and she felt a hard hit on her shoulder that almost made her fall. She used the unsteadiness to hit the back of his knees and make him fall on the ground. She jumped gracefully and kicked his sword away in the process. 

 

But as she landed on the floor, he tackled her and, out of surprise, she held her sword a little less steadily. He rapidly took the thin weapon before she could realize her mistake, and before she could curse and understand what she did wrong, she was on her back on the cold ground, and he had her Needle, pointing at her throat.

 

“Argh! I almost had you!”, she spat out exasperated.

 

“You did, but you were too sure about your move.”, he said, holding out a hand to help her stand up. She dismissed the help and took back her Needle.

 

“I have to say I'm impressed, expect for the excess of confidence in the last move, I was in real trouble.”

 

She didn't take the compliment, she just cursed herself for triumphing too rapidly.

 

“Anyway, she said in disdain, it's getting late, and I have an army of damsels to toughen up on the morrow.”, before engaging to the door.

 

“Oh, don't be upset, we were just having fun!”, Jon laughed.

 

“A man has to retire, too, he also has training early in the morning.”, Jaqen said before bowing and following Arya through the door.

 

As they exited the room, Sansa was smiling, and Jon spotted it.

 

“What is it?”, he asked

“Nothing.”, she answered.

 

The maids in the corridors were busy lighting the candles as they walked towards the children's wing. There, the corridors were empty, and the sound of the howling wind could be heard through the windows. He couldn't help but smirk, and she saw it. 

 

_ Damn it _ , she thought.

 

He looked especially good that night. He had tied his long hair in a man-bun, and he had finally found clothes that fit him, and that were not baggy or hanging loosely around his frame. They were practically dressed the same, a tight, leather coat with a chemise underneath and riding pants. She knew he would tease her, but all she could think about were these sparkling eyes staring at her. 

She was blushing, but she was not sure if it was provoked by her recent defeat or the man standing next to her.  She tried to remember how he looked underneath the layers of clothing,  the feeling of his skin under her long fingers, the shine of his golden flesh near the fire.

 

“A girl is forgetting everything she was taught.”,he cut her flow of thoughts

 

“Oh come on! He is very good, you said so yourself!”, she said, frowning.

 

“A man is not speaking about the sparring.”, he said, approaching her until she could feel the heat coming from his body, trapping her between the wall and himself.

“I can read your face like an open book right now.”

 

He raised a brow, and she blushed. He was smirking and all she could think about was kissing that presumptuous, beautiful face until her lips ached and not an inch of his skin would be unexplored.

 

_ Will I ever get used to this? _

 

“What is a girl thinking then?”, she asked arrogantly, and tried to make her voice as seductive as she could, trying to make him the one who could not resist, as her sister had advised her a few days ago. She could already feel the dampness between her thighs. 

 

_ It would be fine if I didn't _

 

He crashed their lips together, and she let out a moan at the feeling of his soft, plumped lips against hers. She wrapped her hands around his  shoulders while he gripped h er waist. His hands caressed her sides, and she could feel the tension build up, slowly turning her crazy. She heard him  exhale sharply, and the want intensified, she let out little whimpers of anticipation.  The corridor was empty, and only the sound of their kisses could be heard echoing in the long, dark hallway.

 

The kisses grew more passionate and demanding. He rolled his tongue over the side of her lips, begging her for entrance.  Their tongues danced in her mouth, fighting for dominance. She felt her heart flutter in her chest, madness encircling the both of them.  She wanted to tear his clothes off,  she could feel her cheeks burn.

 

“A girl has no idea about what a man wants to do to her right now…”, he purred seductively with his ridiculously sexy accent.

 

True, she had no idea. She could only imagine, and pictures started to pop in her head.

 

“The wall is sturdy enough, don't you think, lovely girl?”, he whispered in her ear, tickling her mind with his sweet promises.

 

_ Seven hells _

_ How am I supposed to compete with that _

 

She let out a sigh that almost sounded like a moan and closed her eyes, hoping it would serves him as a sufficient answer.

 

H e bit her lower lip, and she tasted the metallic  scent .  She opened her eyes and realized that he was looking at her. She loved his look so much, mysterious and wanting, looking at her like she was the only real thing in this world.

He  parted their mouths, and  he  took the time to run his forefinger  on the abused lip.

 

He smirked at the sight of her panting and wanting. 

 

“Training tomorrow, lovely girl.”, he said arrogantly before breaking away from her.

 

_ What the… _

 

She did not have the time to say anything to him for the realization took her too long.  She could not believe it.

 

_ Wait, you- _

_ You evil man _

 

_ No, no, he won't leave, not again _

 

She was still breathing heavily. She caught his sleeve between two fingers before he had a chance to turn his back to her. She would have been ready to be taken in that very corridor, she did not care about who would have seen or heard them. No, she would not let him go this time.

 

“Are you kidding me?!”, she hissed, pulling him closer to her.

 

“Hm? So a man isn't allowed to play the game too?”, he asked smirking, and she had to restrain herself from hitting him.

 

What made her angry is that he did not seem annoyed, he did that just to piss her off, and seem to be delighted to see the fire lit in her eyes.

 

“A girl really thought a man would not seek revenge?”, he said with a more serious tone.

 

He fist tightened and she frowned.

“Revenge?! First of all-”

 

Light footsteps could be heard in the corridor, coming this way.

 

_ Jon _

_ Probably going to meet the Khaleesi _

 

She dragged him forcefully in her room and locked the door quickly.

 

“Oh lovely girl, no one will be able to walk in on us if you lock the door.”, he said ironically, and his eyes had something dark in them, something that resembled mischief, and she felt like scratching that pretty face of his, leaving a nasty scar.

 

“You shouldn't have been surprised, you started it!”, she almost shrieked.

 

His expression changed suddenly, and he came near her, trapping her between his arms.

 

“And what was a girl's plan by doing so?”, he asked kindly, but arrogance still remained in his tone.

 

She blushed, and dared not look into his eyes but remained true to herself and spat out the next words. But she didn't have the time.

 

“A girl would like a man to chase her? But, lovely girl, a man is only restraining himself for your own good…”

 

“Oh, and is that working according to you?!”

 

“A girl has no idea…after you almost made this man explode by prematurely ending his _lunch_ pause-”, the way he empathized the word almost felt like a punch in the guts, he sounded so terribly sexy. “-very dirty thoughts about how he would punish you flashed in his head, before he settled on simple revenge…”, his voice was like a growl of some mesmerizing yet dangerous beast, setting her whole frame aflame. He settled a hand on her waist, and his grip was tight, as if he were afraid that she would slip from his hold.

 

“What kind of dirty thoughts? Did a man think about making a girl suffer?”, she asked with a voice she willed innocent, although she knew that innocence had no place in what he was about to say.

 

“Yes…a man thought about punishing you the same way he used to when a man and a girl would play the game of faces in Braavos, but rather than using a stick and hit you on your arm, he would use his bare hand on your bottom as you ride him north and south…”

 

The thought made her shiver, and she had to bite her lower lip to prevent a moan from escaping her as he grasped one of her buttocks.

 

_ Where in the seven hells does he fetch these words?! _

 

“Ah…doesn't this man regret choosing _'simple revenge'_?”, she asked looking straight in his eyes. She knew it would set him aflame, she could feel the heat emanate from his body through his clothes. They were so close, she could also feel the warm wind he breathed out tickle her cheeks.

 

“It's not too late…”, he purred grazing a teeth lazily on her neck, her weakness.

 

She had to wrap her arms around him in order not to loose her balance. He caught both of her skinny thighs and wrapped them around his waist, and her feet formed a tight hook. She felt his hardness against her core, and her eyes flashed open at the realization that it was his shaft.

 

_ You fool _

_ What else would you want it to be?! _

 

He lied her on the ground, she felt the bristles of the uneven carpet through her clothes. He was brooding over her, on his knees between her parted legs, his face lit by the nearby fireplace, his eyes sparkling with want. The warm light made his exotic features look delightful, and every inch of his arrogant face was so, so kissable at this moment. They were as encircled with madness and lust and warmth, as they heard the storm crashing against the windows, as if to remind them about the upcoming danger. But none of them heard.

 

She felt his hand slip underneath her coat, as if he was looking for something. One swift motion, she heard the sound of tearing fabric, and she saw his hand hold one of the daggers she concealed on her and her coat wide open, and the remains of what used to be the lace tying it together hanging loose around her underclothes. He cupped her bosom with his free hand, teased the aching tip between his fingers.

 

“Gods Arya, your body was not made for clothes…”, he purred in her ear.

 

She giggled, and he smirked as she opened the buttons of his coat quickly, before caressing the warm skin underneath. He lifted her chemise before devouring her breasts, playing with her tips with his tongue and teeth, making her back arch.

 

She caught his neck with both her hands, and connected their mouths again as he rested on his elbows. Her hands went down his chest, wandered around his hips, and finally met the laces of his riding trousers. She untied them hastly, before he kissed his way down her, leaving a wet trail all along her upper body. He wiggled her out of her riding pants quickly and she heard him exhale sharply next to her ear as she brushed herself against his hardness. Her underclothes were drenched in her arousal, and the tension that had been building up in her stomach intensified and almost ached, and Arya only saw one way to release it. Her hands traveled to his breeches, making sure to touch every muscle underneath his golden and heated skin on their way.

 

“Lady Arya!”, a voice outside the door called, and the call felt like a punch in the face to the both of them.

It was one of the chambermaids, and she got clearly surprised by the fact that the door was locked.

 

“M-, m'lady, it's the King, and your sister, they want you in the Great Hall, a raven has just arrived from King's Landing.”, she said shyly.

 

Jaqen looked at her and raised a brow at her. He was still between his thighs, his face still reddened by what they had just been interrupted in.

 

“Stop that! What are you thinking, that I control ravens now?! I did not plan this, I swear!”, she whispered angrily, hitting his chest with a fist, before hearing him chortle.

“I-, I'll be right there, let me just-hum…-change my clothes…”, she outed, and heard the young girl walk away.

 

They both sighed in frustration. He placed a light kiss on her cheek, before they settled back on their feet.

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi :) This chapter is longer than what I usually do, so the next one will probably take a bit longer :/  
> In any case, let me know if you enjoyed this one and if you prefer longer chapter or shorter ones with less waiting time inbetween :)  
> I want to thank all of you for reading my little story ;)


	14. Roar

 

They had entered the castle easily, thanks to the Iron-borns leading an attack to divert them.

It was suicide for the men, but that was the spirit of the Iron-borns. They knew they would be outnumbered by the Lannister soldiers, and they knew they wouldn't last for more than a few hours, but that was enough time for the other men to accomplish their missions.

 

The Hound was running through the corridors of this castle he knew too well, leading to the laboratory. He thought about the last time he was in this castle, as a man of the Kingsguard, protecting a boy who was more passionate about troubling young girls and torturing animals than ruling this damned starving and collapsing kingdom.

 

He thought about the girl. The traumatized little girl, when she was still a pawn in the game of thrones. Now she was a grown woman, aware of the reality of the politics, of the reality of life, or it's monstrosity, rather. He was proud of the woman she had become, although he felt guilty for the things she had to go through in order to become this woman. He could have killed every single man who ever thought about touching her or trouble her if she had asked him, even if that meant finishing his job by slitting his own throat. But somehow, he sometimes thought that she could not have changed in a better way. Tormented, betrayed, raped, lonely for so many years, and it had just made her wiser. She was not cruel, not thirsty of vengeance, but just. She was beyond compare at ruling Winterfell, it was the thing she was always meant to do. True, she did not have the military mind of a soldier, but she had the honor of the Father, the mind of the Smith, the bravery of the Warrior, the kindness of the Crone the empathy of the Mother. But in his mind, she still remained the little bird, some majestic beauty not designed for him to reach, not designed for anyone to reach, just for people to observe silently and being mesmerized in secret. The beauty of the Maiden.

 

He had never believed in the Gods, the Gods had wronged him too many times. But he believed in her. Unlike the Gods, she was just, she tried to put some balance this crazy world. She was real, she was someone he could put his trust in.

 

He forced the locked door open, and entered the room. It was dusty and smelled of herbs and death. The stink amplified when he approached the glass jars, filled with what looked like eyes and human parts, floating in some kind of clear liquid.

 

_Da hell is this man playing with?_

 

He opened every drawer he could find, until he saw what he was looking for. He carefully folded the plans and put them in his pod, before hearing loud, mechanical steps in the corridor.

 

_It's time_

 

He grabbed a candle from the corner of the table, and took the calabash filled with the green mixture out.

 

“ _Light the wall facing the sea, this way the wildfire will propagate all the way to the east wing through the hidden passageways.”, the Imp said_

 

 _Let's just hope that he's out of the passageways already_ , he thought before removing the cap and spreading the viscous liquid near the wall.

 

He heard footsteps in the hallway, walking at a rather quick pace. But not towards him. He had recognized his brother's pace, probable rushing towards the attack. He was still close enough for him to catch up.

 

_I could just go in this hallway and surprise that cunt from behind, and justice will finally be restored._

 

He had his hand on his sword already. The other was holding the torch. But as he took a few steps towards the door, readying himself for a fight, the blue eyes of the little bird suddenly appeared in his mind. They looked worried and expecting, those beautiful, brave eyes. He could lose himself in them, for hours, for days, for years, he thought.

 

 _I have no time for this_ , he thought, before setting the room on fire and quickly escaping before the whole tower would explode.

 

*

 

Theon and Gendry, who were hiding near the cells, heard the sound of the explosion, and nodded at each other before parting. They had located before where Ellaria Sand was imprisoned, and her cell was on the opposite side of the castle compared to Yara's cell.

 

The corridor was empty, as expected, when Gendry reached the Dornish's cell. She did not even move. She was blankly staring at a stinking, covered in maggots corpse in front of her. He smashed his hammer against the bars, and found his way in the cell. But she still was not moving.

 

“Do whatever you want with me, Iron-born, just kill me after you're finished.”, she said coldly, and that tone contrasted harshly with her warm, southern accent.

 

“Lady Sand, I come from the North, I was sent by Daenerys Targaryen m'lady, I am here to rescue you. Come with me, you will be escorted to your home.”

 

She looked at him straight in his deep blue eyes, and shook her head lightly, as if she was expecting to wake up from her sleep. She was pale, the palest dornish woman the boy had ever seen, probably from being locked up during so many moons. He hair was just a heap of dark locks, mixed with dust and straws, and it had not been combed since what looked like a decade, and he could tell a lot of it was missing. Dornish women, usually voluptuous and emanating a warm aura, were the exact opposite of the woman in front of him. Her cheeks were sunken, and dark pockets underneath her eyes made her face look deformed and soulless, like all forms of life crawled away from her frame. But in her dark and gaunt eyes was a gleam of light, the trace of the newly found hope, the promise of finally getting home after what must have been moons of perpetual calvary, he could not even imagine what had already been done to her, nor to her cell companion, who was rotting here for what _smelled_ like a decade too.

She took a moment, and finally accepted his help to stand up. He crashed her chains with his hammer.

 

“let's go now, we have no time to loose!”, he said grabbing her arm, pulling her to the way out.

 

“Wait! Wait, we can't leave without…I can't abandon her here, she'll…”, she said, her voice braking. She was waving at the lifeless body.

 

_Why does she care 'bout-_

_**Her daughter** _

The realization hit him, and he felt like giving back the crumbs of bread and the piece of dried meat he had for lunch right before the lady.

 

 _How can one be so cruel?_ , he thought, looking at the body, still processing.

 

It was skinny to the bone and stinking, but it somehow still had the shape of a woman, despite probably being rotting here for moons. Ellaria fell to her knees and caressed the black flesh of what surely used to be the beautiful face of her daughter. But nothing of what remained looked beautiful. The skin was wrinkled and of all kind of different colors, going from yellow to black, and in some places, still stained by the blood that had escaped from her nose. Her mouth was open, as if she had been fighting for air in her last moments. Her top lip had curled up to the base of her nose, revealing the maggot-infested gum. Her eyeballs seemed dry and it looked like they were sinking in her skull.

 

“Cersei in paying for this. Right now.”, he said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

 

He took a deep breath in, went out of the cell and ripped one of the Lannister gold and red banner before coming back in. He settled himself on his knees next to her and took a deep breath in. He felt like puking, he felt the bile heap up in his stomach, but took a deep breath in again and wrapped the heap of cold and dry flesh mingled with bones and pest in the fabric and carried the shroud on his shoulder. He stretched his hand towards the Dornish woman again, helping her stand up. She looked at him in awe, and her eyes were glistening.

 

“Let's go now.”, he outed, before running to the port. He put a cloak around her shoulders and on her head, concealing her dornish features as they ran through the rich streets, making their way down to the streets that looked less wealthy. They finally reached the small port, where the real Iron boats were, disguised as a shipping boat from Essos. As they reached the deck, she took his hands in hers, and bowed.

 

“I shall never forget.”, she said, before carefully placing the shroud in a coffer.

“As soon as we reach Sunspear, I shall thank you with more gold than you've ever seen in your whole life-”

 

He slightly bowed again.

 

“I have to go help Theon!”, he said to the Hound , who had captured his arm before he could run away.

 

“Tell him to move his damn ass, we leave as soon as the Imp's back, I don't care if he's not here, I'm not staying one more minute in this place!”, he growled.

 

*

 

He saw his sister from a far, bound with metal chains to the dirty stone wall. He ran to her, the loud jingle of his heeled shoes and steel armor echoing in the corridor, hitting the walls covered in mold and piss. He slipped but did not fall, and he reached the cell he had seen his sister in.

 

“Yara!”

 

The small cage was covered in dirt, and his queen was sitting here, dressed in rags. His breath accelerated as he saw the small room at the bottom of the kennel he used to sleep in when he served the flayer in his mind again. But he took a deep breath in and forced the door open. It was not even locked. She was laying on the ground, chains bound to her wrists, linking her to the wall in front of them. The wood used to cover it was looking very old and moldy, and traces of scratches and blood stains could be seen on it. Nothing about her appearance reminded him of Yara, except for her short and dark hair and her sharp face. She looked miserable and starving and morally wrecked, just as he did when she came to save him from the claws of Ramsay Bolton.

She took a moment before realizing, and in one swift motion of his heavy sword, he freed her from her chains. She was covered in bruises and much thinner than the last time he had seen her. He usual proud and fighter's expression was nowhere to be seen. That expression he had hated as a child, that expression that had annoyed him as a man, because she looked much braver than he did. He missed it, although he never thought he would. It only belonged on her face. That ravenous courage and bold look, always sure about her moves, it was what made her Yara Greyjoy, Queen of the Iron borns. Theon cursed himself again for not finding the courage to fight their uncle when they were on that boat. Not only had he abandoned her. No, now he felt like he had killed her himself.

 

“You came…”, she said in an exhale, her eyes tired.

His eyes watered.

 

_Yara would never speak like that_

_She would not have allowed anyone to see her this weak_

 

“The men are making a diversion near the east wing, the others are in disguised fishing boats at the port on the opposite side of the city, they will bring us back No-”

 

“Isn't that my dear nephew?”

 

Theon turned around and saw Euron standing in the middle of the corridor, his usual wicked grin wide on his face, empathizing the sparkle of craziness in his eyes.

 

“Oh I guess I shouldn't call you that! What is a man without a cock? A woman? So what does that make you, my niece? Oh no wait, women are way braver than you.”, he said with his spiteful grin.

 

Everything about that man was crazy. His looks, the way he talked, the way he walked, the way he thought. He saw his sister's look grow from tired to terrorized, and at that very moment, there was no living man who was more damned. He had never hated a man this much before. No, not even the flayer, even despite all the things he made him go through for pure amusement.

 

_My sister fears nothing_

_She always has and she always will_

 

“I know no woman who would runs away when their sister need them.”, he approached them.

“No one is going anywhere, I'll make a short work of you too-”

 

Before he could finish his sentence, Theon threw himself on his uncle, shouting all of his anger and his fear. There was nothing left in him but a beast doomed to destroy the man in front of it, not caring if it would cost him his own life. He attacked, creating a human shield between his mad uncle and his queen, and at this moment, he swore to himself that it would be his only function until the last of his days.

 

“What d'ya think your doing with that toothpick little Theon? Gonna poke your uncle with it?”, he said chortling, and avoiding one of Theon's attack again.

“Ya know, I was going to have my way with her before diving to battle, but perhaps the drowned God sent you so I can have my way with the both of you instead.”, he said before laughing so loud that it sent shivers down the Iron-born's spine.

 

He got hit in the belly by one of Euron's knees, and took the occasion to land a fist between his thighs where he had already taken off his armor. He collapsed on the floor, and Theon hit him hard in the face, many times. The man spat blood and half of his teeth. He tried to use one of his knees to hit the boy where it should usually be the most painful for a man, but then cursed as the lad smirked, not even humphing at the shot. Theon finally wrapped the chains around his neck and squeezed until he could not hear him choke anymore.

 

He gave the man a spiteful look, and spat at the lifeless body.

 

“We're leaving, now!”

 

She stood up, and painfully walked out of the cell.

 

“I am so sorry for fleeing that night, he said, looking in her eyes, I will never forgive myself”

 

“You're here now, little brother, it's all that matters. Now stop whining and take me out of this place!”, she said, her voice regaining some strength, which made the boy smile.

 

_Not completely gone…_

 

He nodded, before looking at the body of their uncle laying on the ground.

 

“His armor. It's Valyrian steel…, Jon could use it for the weapons.”

 

He knelt beside the corpse, and started unlatching the straps that held the shoulders. He did not see the strike coming. The knob ax flew towards his head, hitting his side with such strength that it made his vision blur and almost blew his brains out. He had been struck before, many times, but never with such sheer force. He only had the time to unsheathe a dagger and plant it in the man's throat before he collapsed on the ground, his head hitting the floor, with a perfect view of his uncle's bloody smile, and he tasted the copper on the side of his lips, and the blood coming from his own broken skull blinded him as he heard his sister scream, slightly fading into an unceasing humming.

 

“Nooo!”, he heard his sister scream, before he saw her with his other eye take the ax and crush Euron's scull with it.

 

“Theon?! Theon, can you hear me?! Theon, we need to go back home! Theon!”, he heard her shriek, with a higher pitched voice.

 

“Yara”, he figured to articulate with all the blood in his mouth, “go”, he said coughing, almost drowning in his own blood, “go before the soldiers come back…”

 

“I'm not leaving you to die!”, she said, wrapping his arm around her frame and vainly trying to carry him. She dragged him to the nearest door, and they stood on a balcony over the sea, where the soldiers could not see them. Normally, she would have been able to carry him easily, but the months of torture and rape by Euron had weakened her more than she thought.

 

“Yara, stop, leave me here…”

 

“I won't! You're my brother, you're Iron-born! Toughen up, we'll get through this, this is an order from your queen!”, she said, before falling down on the paved ground.

 

“Theon please, you can't die now!”, she said shaking him, as if to jolt life in his broken frame again.

 

The like was roaming in his eyes, he had trouble keeping them open, but he was glad that the only thing he could see was her. The fresh breeze on winter was freezing the blood that had not had a chance to dry yet, still spilling from his head and drizzling on the stone ground.

 

“I should've died many years ago, alongside my brother at a wedding”, he said painfully, before giving a death rattle that set his lungs on fire.

“Now I'm dying for my queen, this is better than any death I could dream of.”, he said, trying to smile, before breathing for the last time.

 

Yara saw the life writhe out of her little brother's eyes. A tear escaped her usually fierce eyes as she crawled to him and shook him, before shutting his eyes and feeling the tear shed and splash over her little brother's cheek.

 

_Born in water and salt, died in water and salt_

 

She pulled the body, and threw him over the wall, and watched it fall in the sea.

 

_He was Iron-born_

 

“What is dead may never die…”, she whispered, before taking the armor and leaving to retrieve her men.

 

*

 

The curtains prevented light from coming in. She was laying in the big bed, staring at the canopy. The sheets were covered in blood, she had asked to be alone. The tiny, cold body was still resting on her chest. She gently caressed the tiny strands of blonde hair on the deformed scalp of the newborn girl. She had been unable to stop the tears from falling, she could taste the salt on the side of her lips again.

 

Qyburn had been the one helping her birth the child. She had not wanted any midwife or handmaiden to help her through the pain. It was the first time that Jaime had not been here to see their baby come into this world, the first time he was not here to hold her hand, to tell her everything was going to be fine. Labor had been pure torture, and had lasted over a day. For over a day, her lower half felt like it was about to break apart at any point, slowly turning her mad with suffering, ripping hisses of pain out of her. She was sure that she could have handled it on her own. The maester had shown her the misshapen head, and when she had not heard the girl cry, but squeak and struggling to breathe, she had realized that she would not be able to go through another loss alone.

She had stretched her arms, and he had given her the newborn without a word before leaving.

 

The girl had squeaked. Cersei had felt all the distress and the pain in her daughter's voice.

 

“Shh, dear princess Lelia, everything will be fine now...”, she said with her soothing, mother's voice.

“Do not worry, my love, I will not let the evil things hurt you.”

 

The baby squeaked again, and the tears fell down Cersei's cheeks.

 

“Roar, little lion. I will not let them come near you. Not the wolves who howl in the night, nor the dragons who breathe fire, the bears of the north, the foxes of the south, the birds in the sky, the beasts in the sea...”

 

She shut Lelia's eyes, and slowly rocked her until she could not hear her pain anymore, only the sound of her own sorrow.

 

“They are far away, we are just lions now.”

 

She heard the screams outside, but she did not care. She felt weak and mournful, she did not have the force to look outside the window, nor the will to see the abomination that this city had become. All that mattered was her little one.

 

The door creaked open. She did not find the force to shout at whomever entered the room. She heard the stranger slowly make his way to her bed. She did not look at him, she knew who he was and why he was there. She held her lifeless infant tight, and laid her head on the feathery pillow without wiping her drenched cheeks.

 

As she closed her eyes, she felt his strong gloved hands fold around her neck, and squeeze. She gulped for air at first, but she did not try to fight back. She just held Lelia's cold little frame and thought about the Lannister dynasty that will never exist, the uncomfortable throne her daughter will never sit upon.

 

_All will be well_

 

As when she felt the life crawling out of her weak body, the only words she could remember were those of Maggy the Frog, the witch from Volantis who had predicted her future when she was a girl. She had promised her a marriage to a king. She had promised her golden crowned children, she had promised her their deaths. She had promised her that a younger queen, more beautiful would rip everything from her. She had taken her loved one, her country, everything that mattered.

 

“ _You will be queen, for a time. Then comes another, younger, more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear. And when the tears have drowned you,_ _the Valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."_

 

_*_

 

The maid was arranging the bedlinen and, as always, did not miss an occasion for their eyes to meet. Before she could utter any word, he spoke.

 

“Shouldn't you be learning how to fight like the others? You're old enough, aren't you?”, he said, and hoped she would take it as a reproach.

 

After all the things he went through, the last thing he wanted to do was flirt with the chambermaids. True, that they were pleasant to look at. They all had dark hair, snow like skin, a lean frame and doe like eyes, a perfect description of the northern beauty. But they should also know that he had just left the only woman he had ever been with, the mad ruler of the south, and his twin sister, beyond everything. Their relationship was no secret anymore, even here, in the far north. It was no secret either that she was pregnant with his child, everyone knew. But these maidens did not have the decency to leave him alone when he needed it. He had shouted at a few of them. He had never done that before. He had always been respectful towards servants and soldiers who were considered to be less important than him, but he had never considered anyone to be less important than he was. Not everyone agreed with him on that point. Cersei, most of all. His father, too, even Bronn. His brother, though, shared his love for commoners. When he rode North, he expected to spend more time with him. But he had barely seen him. Only the evening he arrived, he had a glimpse of smile from him when he stated he wanted to pledge himself to the army of the Living. But since then he had not seen his younger brother, and learned only recently that he was on a mission in King's Landing, but that no one should be aware of his presence there, that the plan was to free Ellaria Martell and Yara Greyjoy, and make it look like an Iron born Rebellion.

 

But he knew his brother was not gone to free the Dragon queen's allies. She was the first to prevent people of importance to take part in these kind of missions. No, he was in King's Landing for a more important matter, something only he could take care of. And he did not want to think about it.

Because despite being mad and spiteful and incredibly selfish, despite threatening to kill him, he had loved her once, she had been the mother of his children.

 

He thought about the child she was bearing. He had asked himself before if she had lied about it's existence, only to keep his loyalty. May she be really pregnant or not, it had not worked. He wondered what would happen with the child, should it be born before Tyrion would take her life.

 

_I could be a father for the first time_

 

He remembered his conversation with Myrcella, on the boat, right before she died in his arms. He remembered the look in her eyes when she told him she knew about him being her father. She was his daughter, she had his golden hair, his green eyes, and despite looking a lot like Cersei too, she was kind, the kindest creature this world has ever known. He wondered how such a perfect being could have been created by such dreadful parents. Maybe the Gods had decided to show them what perfection was when she came into the world, just before showing them what happens to perfect things in this insane universe. This moment had been the best moment in his entire life, right before it became his most sorrowful memory.

 

_I would be a father, not an uncle, not a guard, a father. For the second time…_

 

But he brushed these happy dreams away, he did not allow himself to fantasize about what his life could become, he had caused too much harm for that.

 

A knock on the door.

 

“Come in”, he said, tightening the straps of his golden hand.

 

“I'm sorry to disturb you, Ser Jaime.”

 

He recognized the voice. Another person he did not find the courage to face since his arrival here.

 

_Brienne of Tarth_

 

He stood up and offered her a seat. He noticed she was still carrying his sword, with the lion head on the hilt. It made him feel proud, but he wondered why she did not change it. She was sworn to northern lords after all, and northerners are not well known for their liking for lions.

 

“You kept the lion.”, he said smiling.

“I thought Sansa Stark would have had you remove it, just for symbolism, she is known to care for little details like those.”

 

“She…did ask, but I refused and she did not insist.”, the woman sad with a formal tone.

 

“Why?”, he teased her.

 

He saw unease grow on her large face, and she looked away and took a deep breath.

 

“I wanted to tell you, I… you made the choice that seemed right to you, even if it was difficult, even if it meant breaking vows. It may not look like it now, but that was the right decision-”

 

“So you know too.”, he cut her calmly.

“That they're off to kill Cersei.”, he added coldly.

 

“I was… informed of that, yes. I know you love her, I just-”

 

“Loved.”, he cut her again.

“I loved her. And then I left her.”, he said, slowly walking to the window.

 

He looked out, but there was not much to see except for muddy snow and people running around collecting rations or training. His room was small and below the ground, right next to the soldier's rooms, like any other officer. He was lucky enough to have a room, he was lucky enough to be alive. He had not expected so much by coming here. He had tried to kill the Queen he later pledged himself to after all. But somehow the Queen was in a forgiving mood, and surely her councilors advised her to keep him alive so he could provide information about the southern situation. And Jaime knew that surely his brother must have helped somehow.

 

“And I want you to know it was the right decision.”

 

He inhaled sharply. He knew it was the right decision, it was the logic decision. But he could not help but feel a little bit sorrowful. He had never left Cersei. They had shared a womb, been raised together, and then he spent the rest of his life serving her, making sure she was safe, trying and failing to protect their children. Leaving her felt like failing her too, failing the child that is not yet born, and that never will be.

 

“Ser Jaime, you haven't been eating much, you train and then you disappear in this room until the next morning, they even thought you came here to spy-”

 

“Who sent you?”, he asked coldly.

 

He could not look at her, he did not find the courage. She was the embodiment of loyalty, of everything that was right, how could the scam that he was stare into her eyes and tell her he came here for her? How could he even pretend that he deserved her? He who only took two good decisions in his entire life, slaying his King and betraying his Queen.

 

She stood up abruptly. He had hurt her, he knew he had, although he would not see any trace of harm if he turned around and looked at her.

 

“Myself, Jaime. I came here because I am worried for you. I came here to help you stop torturing yourself-”, she said, sadness somehow hidden under the formal tone.

 

“And how do you intent on doing that?! Every single decision I've ever taken has led to wars, murders or betrayals, how does that not make me look like a wretch in your eyes! Why would you care about someone like me?!”, he said raising his tone. He looked mad, he knew. He also realized what he had just indirectly confessed.

 

But she shook her head.

 

“You might not be what people expect to see when they meet a man of honor, but you are a good man. You were brave enough to go against those who had power, you took the right decisions when you had the chance.”

 

“What do you know about that?”

 

“You think I didn't learn what kind of monstrosities the people had to endure under the mad King? You think people who knew him don't know that you've spared their lives and those of many innocents? You think the Imp did not tell us how he escaped his father's sentence to death? You think I forgot everything you did for me? And most of all, you've been too humble to claim yourself as the one who saved all those lives, that makes you a good man. Id'on't care what everyone thinks.

I don't care if you broke oaths you made to murderous rulers or spiteful lords, you took the right decision when you could.”

 

He said nothing. It was the first time anyone had complimented him about his actions, the first time anyone understood his true intents.

 

“And you are here now. I was right to trust you.”, she finished.

 

For a moment, only the deaf sound of people rumbling outside could be heard, and they just stood here in the little room, the ceiling almost touching her straw like hair. The air in the room was heavy, almost hard to inhale, and Jaime had to concentrate to keep on breathing and not loose himself in the light that was shining in her big blue eyes, a light that reminded him of the blue sky he used to stare at when he lived in Casterly Rock, like the sapphire of the ocean around the island of Tarth. Suddenly, she was no longer this fighting beast everyone made fun of, but the voice of the Father himself. Brave and strong, just and rightful. But she had something more, something that felt strange and familiar, that made him sad and curious at the same time. A tingle in his stomach.

 

“Thank you”

 

 

_*_

 

The guard burst into the room.

 

“Your grace! The news! From King's Landing!”, he said waving a sealed scroll him.

 

He was sitting at the table of the great Hall with Sansa, the both of them not able to find sleep.

The sky was dark outside, it was quite late and the others were asleep since quite some time.

 

“Summon Daenerys Targaryen, as well as Varys, Bran and Arya. And Jaime Lannister, too, he might want to know. The others can wait until tomorrow.”, she said standing up and taking the scroll in her hand.

 

“Very well, m'lady.”, he said before running out of the room, looking for chambermaids to help him summon everyone in the shortest time.

 

Jon's face was as pale as moonlight, and he was staring at the ground, torturing himself inside.

 

_If this failed, then we're doomed_

_We just gave them a reason to attack us_

 

“Your grace…”, Sansa said, holding the sealed scroll for him to read.

 

He took a deep breath, before taking the small piece of paper. His heart accelerated at the sight of the seal.

 

_A lion_

 

He opened it quickly, his hands shaking.

 

_Tyrion's Handwriting_

 

 

> To Jon Snow and Daene-, he skipped all the titles and the salutations. There was a kind of pressure, clenching at his guts, and beads of cold sweat were forming on his forehead, urging him to read as fast as he could.

 

 

> Cersei Lannister officially died after giving birth to her fourth still born child.
> 
> The former Hand of the Queen, now governor of the South, is sitting on the throne as we speak, readying his armies to fight alongside the army of the Living. The plans of the scorpion are in our possession.
> 
> We are currently sailing back North with Yara Greyjoy and her fleet. Iron borns are escorting Ellaria Sand to her home for her to send her armies North.
> 
> Euron Greyjoy is out of trouble, defeated by Theon Greyjoy who also had his last breath, as well as the Baratheon bastard who was lost fighting valiantly.
> 
> We will reach Winterfell within no more than two moons.

 

Jon suddenly felt sad for Theon. They had been raised as brothers, they knew each other since they were boys.

 

 _But at least he died for a good cause_ , he thought.

 

He felt sad for Gendry too. Despite being arrogant and way too fond of Arya for his liking, he was a good lad. But the relieve he felt as he read about Cersei Lannister's death went beyond words. He was so appeased now, after days of torture and hair pulling and sleepless nights.

 

The summoned ones finally entered the room, all of their hair ruffled and sleepy eyes. They had all obviously been woken up, and were still in a dreamy state. Expect for Arya who looked more alert than ever. Angry, almost.

 

“So what is it?! What happened?!”, she asked quickly, her voice high pitched.

 

He read them the message, expressed his condolences to Arya, but her face remained perfectly blank. He expressed his condolences to Jaime Lannister too, who took a deep breath in before turning his heels and walking away after nodding and wishing them a good night.

 

Sansa looked a little sad, and wished them a good night before leaving too.

 

_Theon. He saved her life…_

 

But despite the grief, he could not help but look at Daenerys and smile. Finally he was breathing. They stood a chance. Their kin stood a chance.

Arya nodded at them, before taking Bran with her on her way out.

 

He looked deeply in Daenerys' purple eyes, before she took him in her arms. He could cry. He felt so relieved.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, very 'story centered', a lot happened but I wanted the plot to move on a little bit, so I tried to stay true to GRRM writing style and got rid of a few characters :P  
> No preview this week, what do you think will happen in next chapter? Leave a comment to let me know, I enjoy reading them a lot!  
> Thanks for reading, I'll try to upload next chapter before Christmas :)  
> Artist's Instagram: @emmney.art


	15. Whispers of Serenity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, your chapter before Christmas :)  
> I hope you will enjoy this one, it's a bit calm after all the death and action we had last chapter ;) Please, leave a comment and go check out the artist on social media, your feedback would be an amazing gift for the both of us :) ( Instagram: @emmney.art )  
> I wish you all a Merry Christmas my dears :)

_She was on one of the balconies of Winterfell, staring at the courtyard. The snow was melting, and some snow-drops could be found by the ones who looked closely enough. As always, the people were busy packing grains, thumping leather, plucking gooses. The growls of the dragons up in the sky and the howls of the wolves, deep in the forest formed an enchanting melody, and the sun was caressing her cheeks, warming them gently, as the wind was playing with strands of her long, fiery hair._

 

“ _Mother!”, she heard a shout from below._

“ _Mother, look what uncle Jon offered me!”_

 

_She looked down, and could not believe her own eyes. Her mouth fell open, tears forming at the corners of her eyes._

_The boy looked just like Robb. He had the same auburn hair, the same confidence in his look. Yet, on his cheeks were freckles, like sun kisses all around his face, and the candid expression reminded her of Rickon._

_She had dreamed of her children before. When she did, there was even a girl who looked like Arya. But the sight of the perfect boy, wielding a thick and short sword looked like it was coming from another world. He was almost too perfect. As he looked up, she noticed the familiar gray eyes._

 

“ _Father, you're going to have to teach me now!”, he voiced out._

 

_She quickly turned her head, and her eyes met with a thick scar and burnt flesh, the large and raw face of the Hound, and she realized that the child was addressing to him as 'Father'. Something stirred in her stomach, and she somehow could not take her eyes off this wounded yet mannly and proud face. It felt so odd yet so right at the same time. It was like everything was where it was supposed to be. She felt his hand on her lap, and saw that he was wearing the most gentle smile she had ever seen on his face. The boy and him had the exact same eyes, but they looked different than Sandor's real eyes, something in them was unusual. They did not have this sad expression in them anymore, they were joyous and full of life, glistening and reflecting the light of the early spring sun._

_She smiled and wanted to put her hand on top of his, but suddenly he was very far and unreachable, so far she had to stretch her arm and yet she still could not feel his calloused skin under her porcelain fingers, and the tranquility of the scene changed to sorrowful and dark. She felt she was falling, and everything around her shifted._

 

She opened her eyes, and realized that it was a dream. She felt confused, and wanted to hide underneath the blankets to return to that happy place. The happy dreams had been rare, these past years. Most of her nights consisted of her, waking up in terror and panting after another nightmare where she was still trapped in her old room with Ramsay Bolton.

 But something about that dream felt odd. She wanted to question the Gods and curse them for sending her such a peaceful and perfect sight of what her life could be, because she knew life was not that way, and that it never would be.

Dawn was breaking outside the windows of her parent's room. Suddenly she hoped she could become a little girl again and nestle her little frame in her mother's arms, just like she did when she was a child and she had had a nightmare. She remembered how her mother always brushed her hair with her fingers, soothing her with her kind words. She remembered the bedsheets that smelled like her, the quiet nights of summer in Winterfell. This dream had felt like one of those moments when she felt safe.

 

She thought about Sandor again, and wondered for what could have been the thousandth time if he was still alive after encountering his brother. She had not been able to think about anything else lately, and her thoughts were turning her crazy, there was nothing else she could concentrate on rather than what she would do should he no longer be breathing the air of this world. She did not know if she could survive another loss.She had lost members of her family, some of them even died right before her eyes, and even if he was not family to her, he was a friend, someone she cared about, someone she needed eventhough she knew she shouldn't. The idea that he could not be alive anymore felt so impossible. It was impossible, she knew it, she felt it. But it also was so probable. It had already been a few days since they had killed Cersei, and they probably were on their way back, he was probably on a boat right now, cursing the waves or something.

 

_Except if he is-_

_No, no, I don't want to think about that_

 

She was more than worried about him. Tyrion's message stated nothing about him.

 

Her nights had been sleepless since she knew he was in the capital, not even a mile away from his brother the Mountain. She expected the message to end the torture that lack of information was, she had to know if she could hope to see his grey eyes again. But it had only raised her anxiety.

 

 _Is that love?_ , a naïve little voice asked in her head.

 

She quickly brushed the question away, and turned in her bed to look at the window. This could not be. She didn't **want** it to be.

 

_Everything is perfectly fine the way it is_

_'Love only your children',_ Cersei had taught her, and she had to agree with the woman, as much as she despised her.

 

She had already bent this rule. She loved her brothers, she loved her sister. And she had later hated herself for it, but she had loved the future that the Littlefinger had promised her by his side.

When she was a little girl, she had read books and sang songs about fair Maidens in love with brave Knights. She had crafted herself an idea of love that was poisonned by those lying songs and stupid stories. She had even thought that she loved Joffrey, even if she knew nothing about him, just that he was a prince and that he fitted the descriptions of the mighty and brave man te songs decripted. Truth was, she knew nothing about love.

 

_Oh, what a fool I was_

 

Later, she had loved the idea of becoming Loras Tyrell's wife, and be Margaery's sister. But that idea too had been ripped away from her.

 

No, Sansa Stark did not have a good experience with love nor with men, nor with love with men. She loved her family, and it suited her. But now, love had a whole other meaning when it came to this man.

 

_Sandor Clegane, of all people…_

 

He was harsh and crude and cruel and rude, but when she thought about him, something stirred in her. She feared for him, but she also feared of not seeing him again. It felt selfish but she didn't care.

 

_What a pair we would be_

_Him, tall and bulky and beast looking, and me, the 'little bird'_

 

If there was one thing she praised herself about, it was not being one of the 'fair damsel in distress waiting to be rescued' anymore. True, he still called her his little bird, but even if she appeared small and fragile next to him, she was a fierce, brave bird now. She was proud of herself for becoming the woman that she was now. She had responsibilities, a seat of choice at the war council, and people around the castle asked for her advise all the time, she was the Lady of Winterfell, she was in charge for the first time of her life and nothing had felt more right. The little bird was not in it's cage anymore, it was flying, wings flapping against the wind.

 

And the little bird had fallen in love with the one who had opened her cage made of lies and songs.

 

She dressed alone, and got out of her room. It was still very early, but she knew she would find her little sister. She always woke up early to whet needle in the Godswood near the blackpool, with no one to disturb her, just like father used to do.

 

Arya heard her steps in the snow from a far. Sansa smiled and sat next to her young sister.

 

“Are you alright?”, Sansa asked, nestling her hands in the furs of her coat to keep warm. The brisk air of the morning was the most vicious, the sun had not had time to warm the fields yet and it was the best time to catch whatever deadly disease the North was known for.

 

“Why wouldn't I be?”, Arya asked, running her whetting stone to the tip of her skinny blade.

 

“Oh, I don't know. Looking forward to another very entertaining day training 'whining damsels', planning to defeat an army of mythical moving corpses we barely stand a chance against, and…ah, yes, to mourn someone who loved you?”

 

Arya smiled at her cheekiness, but quickly regained her blank face.

 

“He didn't love me. He didn't know me. And I didn't know him either. We were just friends, once. That's all.”

 

“Alright then.”, Sansa added smiling, looking at the sun, raising on the horizon.

“He was kind of weird though.”

 

She heard her sister's sigh, as expected.

 

“Are we really going to fault a dead man?”, she said grinning and rolling her eyes. She was not fond of small talk, but Sansa knew it. She did so to tease her, and to make her speak, because even though she did not know it, she needed it.

 

There was a moment of silence, the moment Arya needed to understand that her sister would not walk out of this conversation until she would feel like she had lightened Arya's heart. It was one of their few common points, stubbornness.

 

“It's just…weird. I did not hate him, it's not like he hurt me or anything, we just became strangers. I was relieved when he went away, the thought of him not annoying me all day, whining about what got him here and how somehow thanks to his bravery and courage he is still alive cheered me up, but now he's dead… and I feel like I should…, maybe feel sadder than I do.”

 

Sansa restrained her will to pat her little sister's shoulder.

 

“As you said, he didn't know you anymore, and you did not know him either, the way you feel is perfectly…normal.”, Sansa said, quickly glancing at Arya to see if being called 'normal' did not offend her.

“He was very obsessed with you…that's not faulting him.”, she added teasingly, releasing the atmosphere.

 

“To that point, it is.”, Arya answered, entering the game.

 

“I see. That doesn't count for all men however, especially a certain Lorathi.”, Sansa continued.

 

Arya looked at the snow and blushed the tiniest bit, a very light shade of pink appearing on her cheeks.

 

“He's not obsessed”, Arya chortled quietly, smoke coming out of her nose.

 

_Oh, cute_

 

“Please. He has not even _lain_ eyes on any other woman in this whole castle. I've been watching.”, Sansa said raising a brow.

“And the way he looks when his eyes are on you… that look could melt the iron throne. It's like he's making love to you with his eyes.”

 

The sisters chortled together.

 

“Ush…If Jon learns he'll kill him.”

 

“You're right”, Sansa answered nodding, and the sisters giggles filled the still air of the Godswod, lightening the deadly atosphere.

 

*

 

“Everything should go as planned now. The southern soldiers sent by Qyburn should arrive in two moons. Now, southern soldiers like the former army of the Lannisters or the Dornishmen never traveled this far North. No long ago, they were still fighting one another.

My Lords! I want you make sure that your soldiers do not create a war amongst the living.”

 

“But your grace!”, the Lord of the Vale hissed, standing up.

“We have been enemies with them since Robert Baratheon's death, these men have fought each other numerous time, and now you ask of them to fight alongside. We better not mix them up too much, or our men will feel like we are being invaded!”

 

“That is what I want you to explain our soldiers! Rebellion is the last thing we need! I want everyone to know that they are not fighting for a house, but for the living, the color of their shield does not matter! If they decide to engage in this war, they have to be prepared to fight alongside southern men, but also Wildlings, Dothrakis and Unsullied. It is by mixing them that we will prevent a Rebellion from happening, if they fight on the same battlefield, share their meals, sleep in the same tents-”

 

“You can't expect enemies like the Lannisters and the Starks to forget about the past and fight hand in hand-”

 

Daenerys stood up abruptly.

 

“Jon Snow has brought clans together before, the Wildings and the Night's Watch. If I was taught right, they were enemies for centuries before he allied them. No one could have imagined a Wildling and a brother of the Night's Watch to unite before, but Jon Snow made it possible. And I have brought Unsullied and Dothrakis together, clans that are worlds apart, and yet they fought together, for _me_. Soldiers only need to believe in their leader, but most of all, we have to believe in ourselves and in our men! Explain them the threat, make them understand that there is not time to bicker amongst ourselves!”, she said raising her voice and frowning. Jon suddenly felt thankful that she was here to complete his lack of diplomacy. When she spoke, it was impossible to cut her, she looked way too threatening and inspired too much respect for that, something he may be lacking too.

 

Her hands were on her belly, but it concealed only very little. The roundness was unmistakable now, and everyone around the castle knew that she was expecting a child. Everyone also knew who the father was. For a time, there had been suspicions about the Imp or her old friend Jorah Mormont to be the father, but since Jon had been spotted by one of the chaimbermaids one night, walking out of her room to return to his own, there was no doubt left. The rumors had even hit the High Lords.

 

“Of-, of course your grace, but I would still not recommend mixing them up. Let the man stay among their own kin, otherwise it will lead to Rebellion-”

 

“And let them watch the White Walkers butcher their enemies in delight?! No, we need to unite them, we need them to understand that men are men, not the colors they wear. We are fighting for the living. We want them to help each other on the battlefield, and there is no other way to do that than make them travel and live together!”, he added, with and authoritative tone.

 

The room went silent. Jon knew that the men were not the only problem. The High Lords too, had to accustom to the idea that they would have to fight with enemies, people they despised for decades, if not centuries.

 

“On how many Houses can we count on?”, Daenerys asked.

 

“The Dornishmen will soon leave for the North, your grace, as well as the former Lannister men. We can also expect the Golden Company Euron Greyjoy has escorted to Westeros to join them, Qyburn has paid them already, they may as well serve him at some point. All the vassal Houses who were loyal to Cersei are now on your side. That means the seven houses that used to be vassal of House Baratheon, and at that we add the vassal Houses of Lannister and the Houses that Cersei has conquered over the years. With a total of seventeen houses, plus Dorne and the Golden company, we should be able to reach a number of fifty thousand extra men, your graces.”, Varys said.

 

“Send Ravens to all the Houses, tell them to bring as much vials as they can, the North only has so little food. Make sure they will not get discouraged by the cold nor the army they are going to fight against.”, Sansa said calmly, always thinking about the practical side.

“We will also send Ravens to the southern Houses whose alliegance is uncertain, such as Houses Merryweather, Rowan, Redwyne, Hightower and Oakheart. We must insist on the fact that Lady Olenna Tyrell was on our side before she died in order to rally them to us, as they were all vassals of house Tyrell. Their number of men is considerable too, they could help.”

 

They all nodded.

 

“War council is over, my lords. Thank you for your time.”, Jon said, looking out the window at the dark sky.

 

Night came earlier every day, reminding them about the time, still flowing despite the fact that they were not ready for the war that awaited them. The army of the dead had already ravaged Last Hearth, and if everything would go well, the southern armies would arrive just in time to trap the White Walkers at the Last river, in two moons.

 

“Sam?”, Jon called.

 

The man turned at him, and Jon waited for all the other people to leave the room before he spoke.

 

“Samwell, as you know, your sister is the heir to Horn Hill now.”, he said, and Sam nodded.

“And she married the Lord of Cider Hall, Symun Fossoway.”

 

“I-…yes, I know about that…your grace.”, he said, a little bit confused.

 

“The Tarly family is an ancestral family, the second most powerful and prosperous House in the Reach after the Tyrells, I reckon. Am I wrong?”, Danerys asked Varys, who shook his head in response.

 

“Lord Tarly”, Varys began, the expression on his face growing from formal to sorrowful, “Your sister, Talla… has recently given birth, and we have been informed that due to some complications she has passed away... We offer you our condolences, my lord.”

 

Samwell's face decomposed. Jon knew that she was his only sister, and that the women in his family had been the only ones to ever accept him how he was, the only ones not willing to send him away or toughen him up, the only ones who appreciated him for who he really was, the wisest and cleverest man Jon knew.

 

“But this…makes you the head of House Tarly, the Lord of Horn Hill-”

 

“No, m-, my mother, she's still, I'm mean, unless…”, he answered, looking for his words, having trouble to speak up, as always.

 

“Lady Melessa Florent is only a Tarly by marriage, my Lord. Moreover, she is no longer able to pursue the Tarly lineage, you are, you can be the head of your family home…”, Varys added.

 

“I…I don't get it, wh- what is it that you want of me? Why would you care if a castle remained vacant now?”, Samwell asked confused.

 

“It is not the castle, that were are concerned about.”, Daenerys spoke softly, her voice like the one of an angel.

“It is the soldiers who lived in it, the soldiers who followed your father. Some of them bent the knee to me after the loot train attack, but most of them reached King's Landing before. There is still a significant amount of soldiers who bent the knee to Cersei, because your father did, but they still morn the Tyrells, the Great House yours was vassal of, if I remember right. They will not take orders from the successor of the woman who had the Tyrells decimated, nor will they respond to our calls, the King in the North's and the rightful heir to the Throne's. The only person who could lead them on the right path is you, lord Tarly.”

 

“So-, so you want me to be Lord of Horn Hill so that-… But, I can't! I swore a sacred vow, I'm a sworn brother of the Night's watch! I swore to take no lands, to father no children-”, Sam said stammering. He was playing with his finger nervously, and his eyes never met Jon's nor Daenerys'. To reject an order from a Queen and a King was something quite stressful.

 

“When the war is over, there will be no need for a Night's watch anymore. You will be free from your oaths. And I, as a King, can offer you the opportunity to leave the Night's Watch.”, Jon said, trying to calm the man down with his words.

 

“But Jon, I- I pledged myself to you, I swore to help you, to serve you-”

 

“And you will. You will claim Horn Hill, gather your father's forces, and thereby also gather the Fossoway men, who are pledged to House Tarly. Sam, you are the last hope for your House. I know that is not of much importance to you, but it is to those who were under your ancestors commands, it does to those who still believe in the Tarly name. You are the last hope for these men.”

 

Suddenly, Samwell's father's voice resonated in his head.

“ _You're a Tarly. That name means something”_

And despite hating his father, he was attached to the name and the ancestry he had gifted him with his blood. He had not stolen Heartsbane, the family's ancestral Valyrian steel sword for nothing. Now was the time to prove that he was worth owning such a weapon.

 

He nodded at Jon, then bowed to Daenerys before leaving the room.

 

*

 

When he entered the little room, full of books and glass jars and ink vials, Gilly was reading the story of Azor Ahai to little Sam. The boy had blonde locks, which had grown to brush his shoulders now. He was the sweetest thing to ever happen to him. Samwell never cared about him not being his biological descendant. He loved his mother, and he swore to protect her and him as long as he lived. He was his son, the one he would call father, the one who would always protect him no matter what. Samwell Tarly has sworn to himself before that he would be a real father to little Sam, not like his father had been to him, by sending him away thinking he was too fat and weak to wear his name and inherit his precious castle.

 

_Quite ironic when you think about it now, that I am the only heir to Horn Hill now_

_Poor little Talla, only had a glimpse of what life is before the Gods took her away_

 

“I'm…I'm the Lord of Horn Hill, my family home, remember?”, he said, sitting on theit bed, a few steps from little Sam's toddler sized bed.

 

Gilly frowned and looked at him, her chestnut eyes asking the question for her.

 

“My sister Talla died-,... in childbirth…”, he said, lowering his gaze.

 

She came to sit next to him. Little Sam was babbling incomprehensible words as she lay a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I'm sorry, I know you liked her a lot…”

 

Silence invaded the room. He had not mourned his father, nor his younger brother Dickon. They both hated him, they had always called him the insult of the family. But his sister… like his mother, they had been there to soothe his inner wounds, to comfort him and encourage him when he needed it. And Gilly, Gilly was one of these people he loved because she accepted him as he was. She had never tried to change him in any way. She was everything he thought he would never have, she was his smile when he felt down, she was his determination when he got discouraged, and she supported him in his decisions. And the girl was smart. She had an impressive memory, little Sam would always ask her to tell him a story about Westerosi Knights or foreign conquerors every night before he went to bed, and she would count him a new one every time, she knew them all by heart now. She could have become a maester too had she wanted to, and had the citadel accepted women, she was clever enough. But she liked litterature better than science. She was a romantic, like him, although he also liked the intricate precision of medicin and the mysteries biology. She spent her evenings reading histories about Westeros, or learning poetry so she could whisper verses in his ear to gently wake him up when he fell asleep on the books he had studied for hours. There was nothing he loved more than those quiet nights when it was just the three of them, a pile of books, the smell of old parchments and the melody of a singing fire.

 

“But… How can you be Lord of Horn Hill, I thought that when you pledge your life to the Night's Watch…”, she asked confused.

 

“You renounce to all kind of titles, lands and inheritance… But they need me to lead the soldiers North, and Jon can make me leave the Night's Watch.”

 

“He can?”

 

“He is a King. Moreover, there will be not need for a Night's Watch anymore, for the Wall will have no use anymore.”

 

“Are you going to do it?”

 

“Well,-... I won't disobey Jon…”, he said, planting a kiss on little Sam's head before blowing the candle and tucking him.

 

The scene touched Gilly. The man she loved, tucking their son into bed and kissing him good night, it was such a simple gesture yet peaceful and full of tenderness, everything she did not get as a child and dreamed of. She was happy and truly grateful that her son could have this kind of life. But something worried her. If Sam was now Lord of Horn Hill, he now possessed loads of wealth and lands and power. She knew it, she had read about the hierarchy ruling in the South, the importance of money and the powerful houses in Westeros. She knew House Tarly was vassal of House Tyrell, and second in line in terms of affluence. She also knew that heads of great Houses like House Tarly married for interest, to bring their house even more wealth and lands. But Gilly had none of that. She owed nothing, and she was worried that Sam would leave her for a proper spouse, a southern girl, pretty and well educated, unlike her. Of course, she would always be thankful for everything he had done for her, rescuing her from Craster's keep, saving her and her child from the North, taking care of every single one of their needs, loving her son like he was his own. But she loved him, not only because she was grateful, he was smart and caring. No one seemed to notice it, because he did not look like the Knights described in the books or in the songs she heard, but he was brave, and she sometimes wondered why she was always the only one seeing him like he was inside, and not only how he was on the outside.

But how much she loved him did not change the fact that she could not help his house in terms of wealth. She knew the reputation Wildlings had in the South. They were known to be savages, who only know how to fight and how to light a fire. People pledged to House Tarly would never accept half Wildling children to wear the name Tarly.

 

“Gilly…? Gilly?”

 

She looked at him, deeply, and smiled before she planted a soft kiss on his lips.

He took her in his arms, he smelled of old parchment and lime. His embrace was always warm and kind, he had like an soothing aura, and to Gilly, his arms were her only home.

 

*

 

“Again.”, he said, rising on his feet again.

 

“Urgh! What the hell did I do wrong this time?!”, she spat out angrily.

 

“A girl dropped her guard when she made a man fall down, just like when the time her brother bat her because of that mistake.”, he answered calmly, inwardly amused at how enraged she was becoming. He was a perfectionist, he would not let her go until her guard was impeccable after she made him lose his balance.

 

“Oh, like the last thirty fucking times! My sword didn't move, I would've seen!”

 

_Ah, stubborn girl_

 

“A girl's sword moved, a man saw it do this.”, he said, moving her sword from an inch.

 

“Are you kidding me?! That's like the tiniest move I've ever heard of!”

 

It was, really. She had already improved since the beginning of the session, but he wanted her to be able to defeat her half-brother, or at least not loose twice against him because of the same mistake. And he kind of enjoyed watching her go mad about his liking for precision. He had trained younger ones all morning long, but training her was nothing like training them. He made her angry by being extremely picky, but in the end, it was for her own good. Although he did it for his own enjoyment too.

 

“A man has said, again.”, he outed, angling himself to mimic a situation whence she would have the advantage and make him fall.

 

“Aren't you tired of wasting your time collapsing on this training room's ground?!”, she said aggressively, but her question his another.

 

 _"Aren't you tired of being such a pain in the ass?"_ , he saw her ask with her stormy eyes.

_Such cutting thoughts coming from a lovely girl_

 

“A girl should not worry about a man, just care about your guard, lovely girl.”

 

She sighed, he could almost hear her curse in her head. But he enjoyed pushing her to the edge, watching her cheeks turn red from anger. Because he knew she would made him pay for this, and nothing was as thrilling as imagining what sick ways she would find to get her revenge.

He fell on the ground on purpose again after another of her attacks, angled himself in his fall to limit the damage, but he had done it already numerous times, and his arm would be covered in bruises the next morning.

 

_A girl leaves marks on a man_

_Perhaps he should leave marks on her too to make them equals_

_But not the blue marks of fighting, no, the red marks of kissing_

 

He looked over to see her land, and she did it again.

He saw her effort to constrain her hand from moving, but she felt safe for one second and her hand dropped the tiniest bit. Enough for him to show her why precision is crucial in this situation.

Before she could even realize that her hand had moved, he was roaming over her, making her loose her balance and taking advantage of her confusion to take her little sword. She fell heavily on the ground, with him straddling her, her own sword pointing at her throat.

 

“Does a girl understand better why a man has made her do this move again and again? How would she escape such a situation now?”

 

He smiled arrogantly, but he completely lost it when he felt her hand caress his bulge.

 

The next thing he could remember was him laying on the ground, the sword shoved to the side, and a lovely girl on top of him, her hands wrapped around his neck, ready to strangle him.

 

“Like this”, she said, wearing the most high and mighty expression he had ever seen on a face, and Gods know how many faces he had seen in his almost three decades of existence.

 

_It had been a while since this man had not been genuinely surprised_

_And what a lovely surprise_

 

“Impressive”, he said, letting out a sigh, knowing the expression the girl just saw on his usually calm and composed face must have been priceless.

 

She looked dominant, sweat beading on her forehead. She was almost out of breath from their training. Her hair was softly disheveled, her cheeks had turned pink, and the fitting leathery coat was tight enough to reveal the perfect roundness of her small breasts, the slight curve of her waist, her narrow and feminine hips.

 

_If there was ever a Goddess of beauty, and if this Goddess decided to visit the miserable world of the deadly souls, there is only one shape she would choose out of all the lovely shapes there are._

_The shape of Arya Stark._

 

He felt the blood rush through him, felt himself grow hard. She could feel it too, she was sitting right on top of him. He was expecting her to blush and to move away, but instead she leaned down, her face almost touching his, and rubbed herself without hesitating against his hardness. Very slowly and with no particular rhythm at first, but then she started waving, quickly getting the trick. He could feel the heat through the riding pants, and her grip on his throat loosened before her hands came to rest on his cheeks.

Oh, how he wished there was no fabric between them, so he could feel her fully, fill her until that arrogant expression would leave her beautiful face and only pure pleasure could be seen through her lovely features. Her hips were undulating against him, and he started breathing more heavily. He let her lead the pace, let her ride him to her liking. Oh, how she felt ripe and ready, it turned him mad to see her walking around the castle all day, taunting him with that perfect shape of hers. She had allowed him to taste a glimpse her, and now this taste haunted him day and night, he could not help but day dream about how he could burden himself in her, relishing the pleasure of being alive and being with her.

 

_Loosing sense…_

 

“Yet a man is not sure if this technique would be as effective with-”, he managed to say before she drowned his words in a kiss.

 

She pressed their lips together, and ran her tongue against his lower lip before invading his mouth. The warmth and the softness did not help in his search for wit. If she was the human form of Beauty, then he was the mortal shape of Greed. His body was aching with want, he looked like a depraved, like a madman whose only food is her lips, whose only water is her love. And he hungered and thirsted. He could feel her smile, probably at how ridiculously depraved he looked, but he didn't care, he promised himself he would make her feel the same way, he promised himself he would make her writhe and beg for more of him too. But right now he was the one silently begging. Her body was not desire right now, but an itch, plain and simple need, like food, like water, like air, and she was not giving enough, he craved her like she was the only thing left on earth. He pulled her against him, making her loose her balance on her sturdy knees, and lust could be heard even in the air coming out in gusts out of his lungs. He could feel her smile widen as he was loosing all sort of restraint. He tried to hold her legs, he needed her to cease with her movements for him to regain some sort of sanity, but he could not find the will to do so and ended up caressing her thighs instead of grabbing them. His hands left her legs to unlace her coat.

 

Suddenly, the door cracked open, and she sprung back on her feet as fast as he had ever seen, turning her back to the door, so that the intruder would not notice her pink lips, flushed cheeks and the almost undone laces of her coat.

 

_Someday, a man will kill every single person in this household if they keep on interrupting-_

 

“Uhm…Lady Arya, King Jon and Lady Sansa want you in the great Hall, it seems rather urgent.”, the young lad said before running away.

 

And at those words, the world just crumbled around him, like she had suddenly been transported far, very far, in some place she was impossible for him to reach.

 

_Fuck_

 


	16. Dear God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so, so, first of all, Happy New Year!  
> Secondly... I'm really looking forward to your comments on this one ;)
> 
> Artist: @emmney.art

He was blankly staring out the window, watching Winterfell under a coat of snow, it's yard free from all the swarming of the day, as in caught in a cage of stillness. He could hear the wind howl, making the flame of the candle dance, light flickering in the room. The room, the wing, the whole castle was very quiet, and he watched the big snowflakes falling outside through his almost closed eyelids. They were falling heavily, almost pulling the ink black sky down to the muddy earth in their fall. The air in the room was very still, they fire had died, and the humid air was hard to breathe in, stifling and almost trapping.

He heard the weighty door creak open, followed by her heavy footsteps entering the room, her heeled boots clattering against the stone tiles, disturbing the heavy quiescence of the room.

He did not want to see her, he knew he would be disappointed, like he had always been before _her_.

But he took a look anyway. She was tall and lean, her thick and wavy hair brushed to the side, wearing a long skirt that fell to her ankles, and a tight blouse revealing her generous cleavage. Only a fool would not be pleased by the sight. But that was what he was, a fool. For believing _she_ could ever be his.

 

“You asked, m'lord?”, she outed, her voice as sweet as honey, too sweet, too soft. Too much unlike _hers_.

 

He did not want to hear one more word, fearing it would make him change his mind. And changing his mind was not an option, there was only this solution, everything depended on it.

He knew she liked him. By the way her eyes sparkled when he gave her the littlest nod, the way she flushed when he addressed to her, the way she toyed with strands of her hair when she tried to appear seductive to catch his attention.

And she was here, standing, thinking that she achieved her goal. She was not smart, not outstanding. She did not even know him, she wanted him for his looks, so using her for appearances did not seem cruel in his mind. He was not being cruel, he was reestablishing balance, undoing his mistakes.

 

In two quick steps, he erased the space between them. He had his hands on her thighs, running his nose on her cheek, warm from the blush. She had put perfume on. The scent of wildflowers and herbs was stifling, strangling him inside, reminding him she was not _her_. The fire was cracking in the chimney, yet his fingertips were frozen, his caresses rough, he wanted to be done with it already. He opened her blouse, got her out of her dress. The contact of cold air and her nakedness made her giggle, and he had to bite his tongue until he could taste the blood in his mouth in order not to shush her. He begged, he pleaded inwardly that she be quiet, because her giggles, her voicein his room instead of _hers_ was so wrong.

 

He took her to the bed, removing his own garments on his way. He was now on top of her, hiding his face in her neck. He closed his eyes, but it did not help him the slightest bit. It made it worse, far worse. All he could see in his mind was _her_ , staring mercilessly at him. He felt the daggers plunging in his heart as he felt the touch that was not _hers_ on his skin. He had to force his body to respond to this foreign touch. It was not the first time he did so, he had done so his whole life. Without any introducing, he pounded into her, she was ready for him. It was quick, mechanical, lethargic and cold, every trace of the passion he shared with _her_ not so long ago had crawled away from his aching heart. Every sound coming from her, her breathing, her moans, the sound of her skin scratching on the bedlinen was one more knife slicing his heart open. He did not dare look into her eyes, because the only thing he would see would be his own reflection, the only thing he would think about would be how he would rather be lost in _her_ eyes instead.

 

He allowed her to reach climax before he withdrew in an exhale, feinting pleasure.

 

*

 

The room was very quiet, and Bran and Sansa had not said anything to her since her arrival, they only sat here in the dim light, and only the sound of the cracking fire reminded them that time was still flowing.

Jon came back a few moments after she entered with a pitcher filled with a clear, yellowy liquid in his hand.

 

“Ah, you're here Arya. That's good.”, he said smiling.

 

But something was wrong in his smile.

 

He took out four little wooden cups, and served a generous amount in each of them. Arya immediately smelled the strong odor. It smelled like honey, but somehow spoiled.

Jon advanced one cup in front of her.

 

“Drink it, it's mead, you'll like it.”

 

“Why do you want me to drink that? Father always used to say it would shatter one's senses-”

 

“Don't worry, it's just the four of us here, you have nothing to fear about your senses.”, Sansa said softly, emptying half her cup and letting her cheeks turn red already.

 

Arya quickly emptied hers as well, and felt her throat burn and her fingers turn cold. The room swayed a little, but she waited for her vision to adapt.

Bran did not touch his cup and Jon just took a gulp before sitting down. The expression on his face grew sad, and Sansa sighed before she talked.

 

“We need to ask you something, and we figured it would be easier this way.”

 

“Why would you need to have me drunk in order to speak with me?”, Arya answered, a little giggly.

 

The three of them looked at each other, not knowing where to start.

 

“What the hell is going on?”, she asked frowning.

 

Then, Jon handed her a little rolled piece of parchment.

 

“At first we thought it was good news, but…”

*

 

Light steps coming towards his room, fast and hesitant, feet caressing the floor as if she wanted to fly, very far away.

He stood up quickly, gathered some clothes, as the chambermaid lazily crawled out of the bed before putting her dress back on. He knew she would enter, he knew she would see, understand. And he was not ready to see this disappointment in her eyes. But he had to, it was the God's punishment, there was no other way. He nodded at the door, told the woman to leave without a word. She looked pleased, her cheeks flushed and her hair slightly out of place, a satisfied smile on her face. She must have been the only one in this mood in the whole castle at this moment. As expected, she was in front of the door, ready to knock, as her eyes met the chambermaid's.

He heard the fabric covering the woman's frame slide against her damp skin as she escaped, and then heard her running in the corridor, her bare feet brushing against the cold stones.

He did not want to turn his back, he did not have the courage to. He knew the sight of confusion and disappointment in her stormy eyes would tear his heart open. But he eventually did, and what he saw was worse than any of his expectations.

He could see hatred at it's pure state glitching in her eyes, but also the deep, deep cut of sorrow, and it took all of his strength to inhibit the weight that had formed in his throat and regain a neutral expression.

 

“What did you just do?”, she asked strangely not shrieking, her skin not red from anger but pale, her eyes sparkling from the unfallen tears.

It felt so unsusual, this calmness of hers, made the scene feel even more like it was just a mummers' play.

 

“A girl knows exactly what this woman and this man just did.”, he answered coldly, his face perfectly blank and unreadable.

 

“Jaqen!”, she hissed, her voice breaking, and it felt like the hardest punch in the guts he had ever experienced.

“Why, why would you?!I swear I-”

 

“A man is a servant of the many faced God-”

 

“That's horse shite! Why would you-”

 

He had to cut her, he could not hear her breaking voice without losing his composure. He knew what he was about to say made no sense, but it was all he could think of to make her hate him. That was all that he needed, her to hate him. And he inwardly pleaded that she hated him enough to kill him in the end.

 

“He fulfilled the God's will by following a girl here, because the God needs Arya Stark. A man still serves.”

 

As he spoke, he could almost feel the stick hit his flesh, leaving bruises, like when he used to play the game of faces with the kindly man. He lied so terribly right now, that had he been playing the game of faces, he would be spitting all his guts out from being hit so many times.

“The God wants his servants to take care of the faces and the bodies they use. Their hunger, their thirst, their needs-”

 

“That's what I am to you?! Another harlot, another cunt you use for your _needs_?!”, she spat out, her fists so tight she was cutting her palms with her nails, her jaw so tight it could break any moment.

 

She bit her lip hard, he saw, he knew it was to restrain the tears already close to the edge and gleaming in her eyes from falling. She did not understand, no one would have. The whole scene felt unreal, like a nightmare he could escape by waking up. But there was no waking up.

 

_Harlot_

_Cunt_

 

Each word was like a spike digging hard into his chest. And the feeling that made him ache the most was the one reminding him that he was hurting her more than he was already suffering inside.

 

He could not say a word, keeping himself from going insane and ravage every single breakable thing there was in this room was difficult enough. He felt enraged and terribly sorrowful at the same time, ready to kiss her feet and worship her and pledge his life to serve her for her to forgive him should the God change the things that led to this. But the God would not change anything, the God was cruel, he relished watching the mortals torture themselves because of their fate.

And the sound of both of their hearts breaking as he asked the next question had him almost shriek in pain.

 

“And what did a girl think she was to a man?”

 

He could not believe his own words. He prayed that she would use this skinny sword of hers to slice his throat open, or that she take that little spoon and carve his eyes out before would strangle him to death, or maybe just punch him in the guts until he could not breathe anymore. He did not mind suffering, he deserved it. He would not even try to fight back, he just hoped for this riot with the God to be over, because he had no chance to win. And he did not care if he looked like a coward, begging for the gift.

 

_Kill the man, lovely girl_

_Kill him, this time, he won't be able to run after you_

_Poke his heart with your tiny sword, cut him with your words, strangle him until you see life writhe out of his eyes_

_Kill him before you leave him_

_I beg you_

 

He saw a fire light up in her, he knew she was cursing him and the day they met, and everything that had ever been related to him, and every single feeling he was responsible of. But she did not move to hit him, did not even spit at his face as he expected her to do. For the first time, she was taming her anger. Just when he needed her to take advantage of it.

 

“Well, your _slut_ has come to say goodbye, because she is leaving tomorrow for King's Landing to marry a King.”

 

It was like the God Himself had ripped his wounded heart from his chest as she outed the words, reminding him again and again that there was no escape, that they were both trapped in their fate the same way they were trapped in this tiny room.

 

_Oh, a man knows, lovely girl…_ , he thought before hearing the door slam.

 

He had known since the lad had come to summon her, in the afternoon. Information circulated fast in the castle. Mere minutes after he had left the training room, he had heard soldiers talk about a stag seal on a parchment roll destined to the King in the North.

 

And a stag seal could only mean one thing. And his lovely girl had certainly not been summoned this urgently to treat with the diplomatic aspect of a new self proclaimedKing ruling the South. She was not known for her finesse around the castle, but rather for her liking for revenge.No, she was Arya Stark of Winterfell, daughter of the honorable Eddard Stark, meant for the life of a high born girl, and it had felt like someone had brutally woken him from a beautiful dream he shared with an untamed lovely girl, a dream he did never wished to wake up from. It had been like the God had ringed a bell, reminding him that he was just Jaqen H'ghar, and that he had no right to interfere with the fate that the He had designed her. She could find happiness in being Queen, in marrying her old friend, she could even fall in love with him. The thought tortured him, the thought of her looking at a stranger the way she looked at him, kissing his lips and brushing her nose against his cheek, nestling her head in his neck instead of his and oh- what a mistake he had just made, to make her hate him. Never again would he feel the softness of her skin against his shoulder, her burning kisses on his frozen flesh, see the light gleam in her eyes whenever he would make her smile… He should have locked her up in his room, chained her between his sheets, trapped her with a bastard of his own, make her undesirable to any King or High Lord,hide herfrom everyoneelse, keep her for himself and only him…But he could not do such a thing, he was no one to restrain her from accessing her fate and happiness.

And what could he offer her anyway? Nothing but swordsplay and his meaningless love.

 

_A man is no one_

_And a girl cannot fall in love with no one_

 

*

_**King's Landing, a few days prior** _

 

 

The smoke was still rising from the east wing of the castle as Gendry was in Flea bottom again. The sky was already dark and candles were beginning to appear at the windows.

 

_They left without me._

_Fine, fine. I'm done with them, all they can think about is their pedant little arse_

_All I wanted to do was help, make sure everyone would come out from this suicide mission, but apparently that was not everyone's intention_

_Gods, after all I've done, risking my own life, going to chase dead men north of the wall, saving their lives and oh- may all those sons of bitches go to hell!_

 

His jaw hurt from clenching his teeth for so long. He could not believe it when he saw Euron Greyjoy's body and the cell Yara was supposed to be in, slammed open and chains crushed, and the sight of the disguised fishing boats on the horizon line far away already had felt like a punch in the guts.

He wanted to walk in the streets for a little while, he did not know what to do, nor where to go. He was like trapped in his own city. But he had traveled across the whole continent, and this city was the only place which he felt like he truly belonged to. It smelled like piss and beggars were at every corner of every street, but it felt like home.

 

He walked alone, cursing all the Lannisters he could think of, all the Cleganes he knew of, all the Greyjoys he had heard about, until he found the old forge where his Qohorik master had taught him everything he knew. As if he were his own son, the man had raised him as soon as his mother had asked him to take care of her only boy, days before she gave her last breath. The boy had been too young to understand of course, but the man had kept his promise. Despite being a smith, he had taught the young orphan how to read and how to fight, and had transmitted him the precious knowledge of how to reforge Valyrian steel. A secret only Qohorik steel masters knew, and that they only shared with their most gifted apprentice, and in most cases, their own sons. This was the first time he was going back since the man had sold him to Yoren of the Night's Watch. He had hated him for that, he had not understood why the man who raised him as his own child had wanted him away. But he had cursed the man in his mind countless times before understanding, thanks to the red witch, that it had always been for his own good. During his stay at King's Landing after discovering about his King's blood, after escaping that mad redhead, he only glanced at the place from a far, not sure if he wanted to go in or not. But today was probably the last day he was given to thank the man who had actually saved his life by sending him away, the man who raised him as his own child, protected him from danger. This was the depth of Flea bottom. It smelled of ash and sweat and shit, the walls were covered in dirt and there were more beggars sitting on the ground than rats swarming in the gutters, but he was used to it. This was where he had spent the first fifteen years of his life. He heard the sound of the hammer against the anvil, saw the bright red of the hot steel from a far. He wondered if his master was still alive after all these years.

 

_Probably got killed for hiding a Kings bastard, like Jon Arryn or Arya's Father_

 

As he approached, he saw a bunch of guards waiting for their weapons.

 

“What were thos' Iron born thinking? They thought a lil' crumble would make 'em win? Ha!”

 

They chortled, but one intervened.

 

“It's weird though, if they were already in the castle, why'd they bother attack from the sea?”

 

“Nah, don't trouble yourself, Iron-brons think wi' their cocks!”, another said, making the whole group burst into laughs.

 

He looked around the forge. Nothing had changed. The poor rags still on the windows to serve as curtains, the same old chimney, it's bricks black from hosting a never quenching fire.

 

_Still looks like it's gonna fall apart anyti-_

 

“Gendry?”, he heard the voice of an old man say. It had a familiar tone to it, a warm accent from a far country, an accent he had heard all his life, sometimes shouting at him, sometimes soothing him, but most of the time barking orders at him. But that was how he liked his master, because no one barked orders like him.

 

_Still alive_ , he thought smiling.

 

“Oh, boy, I thought they had found you!”, he said, his eyes watering a little. The man had much more wrinkles and grey hair than before, but he still had this tanned skin and his yellow teeth. He walked towards the young lad, who had grown a lot since their last encounter.

 

“Look at you now, you're a man!”, he said, friendly patting his left shoulder with his big calloused and wrinkled hands. At this moment, Gendry thought that despite the blood of the King running through his veins, this man had been the closest thing he ever got to a father.

 

The old man turned to the guards.

 

“I taught 'im everythin', to 'dis boy, he's like me son!”

 

“I wanted to thank you, for…, for everything.”, he said, worriedly looking at the guards assisting to the scene.

 

“It was my duty boy!”, he said with a former tone.

“Didn't want you to meet your father so quickly”, he said in his ear quietly. He threw a quick look at the soldiers, wearing the sea turtle on their armors. Gendry did not know what sigil this was, the only education he ever got being a brief course on how to write and read.

 

“Don't whisper mate! We wanna hear it too, we might shed a tear!”, a guard said before chortling.

“Now hurry a little with those weapons, our Lord doesn't like to have us far, we're like his kingsuard he said-”

 

“Aye, stop talking in my back, I hear you vermin! Why the hell are you chatting here and taking your time when I'm risking my life through the shitty streets of this shitty- by the old Gods and the New!”, he said staring at the young lad in wonderment.

 

“Edric Storm! What the hell is a Baratheon bastard doing here, hum?”, he said lowering his voice, looking at the qohoriki. Gendry looked at his master alarmed.

 

“He's not Edric Strom m'lord-”

 

“Who do you think you are, you think you can allow yourself to lie to a high Lord? Even if he's tall for his age, I know a Baratheon when I meet one, and there is one in front of me!”

 

“He didn't lie!”, Gendry intervened quickly.

“I am King Robert's bastard, but my name Gendry… Gendry Waters, milord, I come from this very street!”

 

The soldiers looked at him in awe. They all suddenly noticed how similar he looked to his father. The same straight, jet black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a big, strong frame. Gendry saw a few of them quickly run away.

 

“Aye, where are you goi-”, the Qohorik smith shrieked.

 

“We risk our lives, and even more, by hiding a Baratheon bastard from her, we need to yield him m'Lord.”

 

“The Queen is dead.”, the Lord said coldly, “She was strangled, probably by one of those Iron borns!”

 

The realization hit Gendry.

 

_Theon and I were in the basement while the Hound was in the west wing, it was not an Iron born…_

_Well, if this is my last day_

 

“No! It wasn't an Iron born, it was me! I smuggled in the castle, I freed this city from the bitch who killed my father!”

 

He heard the sound of guards coming back and started panicking, but he did not let panic show through his face. He then saw a group of old men wearing fancy fabrics and intricate details on their clothes, probably High Lords or even nobles. They all looked at him from head to toe.

 

“What's your name boy?”, one tall, bearded man said with his raspy voice. He looked very old, and the few bristles of hair that remained on his head were as gray as ash.

 

“G-Gendry, Gendry Waters, bastard son of Robert Baratheon.”, the boy stated, nervous, but still drawing his shoulders backwards to make himself more imposing.

 

“The mad Queen is dead, she was found this morning strangled in her bed after the Iron Born's defeat!”

 

As the words came out of the Lords mouth, the bells started ringing again, but not to announce an attack this time, to announce the death of a royal member.

 

“Aye, milord!”, one of the guards intervened.

“And 'dis lad claims he was the one killing her!”

Gendry and the Qohorik smith exchanged a worried glance, and he was looking for a way to escape, but the entrance was the only way out of the keep, and it was crowded with soldiers, Lords and even some peasants passing by. There was no way he could run fast enough to escape all of them.

 

_I beg you mother for mercy!_

_Already survived a red witch who wanted my King's blood, can the Gods bless me twice?_

 

“Do you know what the sentence for Regicide is, boy?”

 

The Lord unsheathed his tall sword, and advanced in the direction of the boy. Gendry clumsily took a few steps back, worriedly looking for his fighting hammer.

 

_Shit Shit_

 

He started panicking as the Lord was approaching, he could feel the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, and his eyeballs would have popped out of his head if he had opened his eyes wider.

 

“Come on here, we could get a good price for your head!”

 

*

 

She took the paper in her hands.

The broken seal had the Baratheon stag on it.

 

“ _From King Gendry Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the first men, legitimized Son of Robert Baratheon, ruler of the seven Kingdoms_

 

_King Gendry? How the hell is that possible?_

_No, no, that must be a joke_ , _he's a bastard, he can't…_

 

_But…_ , she asked herself before frowning at her siblings. Jon only nodded to her and waved his head, suggesting her to continue with her reading.

 

_To Jon Snow, King in the North, bastard Son of Eddard Stark of Winterfell_

 

_I, another bastard, have reclaimed my father's throne, and am now a bastard King, just like you are. I am here addressing to you as the bastard King in the South, the Fawn King, as the son of a man who was a just and loved ruler, and who used to be good friends with your father._

_I have all the forces we need to fight the Undead that are coming. I have Dorne, the Reach and the golden company, as well as many bannermen. I will send my men as soon as possible._

 

_But first we must assure all the people living in Westeros that the North and the South are in good terms, that war between men is over, that we must fight for life now. I propose to you that we secure this alliance by marriage. I believe that your sisters were promised a great future, as the daughters of an honorable Lord._

 

_Many years ago, a Stark was already promised to a Baratheon, but an unfortunate turn of events made this alliance impossible. Let us repair this mistake, Jon Snow. Send your sister Arya south, let me make her Queen Arya Baratheon. Let us create the most powerful alliance the seven Kingdoms have ever experienced, or let me destroy you, if the army of the Dead does not before I do. The fate of the realm is in your hands, as well as the life of all the people who will not be able to cross the sea in time.”_

 

 

_'Queen Arya Baratheon'_

 

Her mouth was open, and she simply could not think about anything. Her mind went totally blank, and she just blinked, staring at the piece of paper. The room was very quiet, only the crackle of the fire could be heard, but she suddenly felt like screaming, like running away, like destroying that damned piece of paper.

 

_Who the Hell does he think he is?!_

 

If she had been the Dragon Queen right now, she would have mounted one of her Dragons, flown to the capital and burned this fucking bastard's castle down to ashes, no matter who would climb on that damned iron chair after him, she would not care.

But she was not the Dragon Queen.

She was Arya Stark of Winterfell, and now the realm's fate rested on her shoulders.

 

Arya thought about what her Lord father had told her, on the steps of the castle in the capital, after her training with Syrio Forrel. He had tried many times to educate her, making her ready for the future awaiting her.

 

_'You will marry a King, and your sons shall be Knights and Princes'_

 

The way she felt at this moment was a blend of sadness and anger. If she would have allowed herself to cry, she would have not known if the tears would have fallen due to her fury of having to become the one person she never wanted to be, a proper Lady that only serves for breeding and embroidering, or because father had been right once again and predicted what would happen, or due to the rip she fell in her heart when she saw Jaqen's face in her mind.

 

_My Lorathi…_

_How could I be someone else's?_

 

“That's not me...”, she whispered, blankly staring at the piece of paper in front of her.

 

Jon spoke softly.

 

“Arya, I know you would rather die than become his Queen, and you can hate me, but he has half of Westeros in his armies, he gathered Cersei's armies and the Dornishmen because of freeing Ellaria Martell-”, Sansa put her gloved hand on his, as if commanding him to stop speaking.

 

Arya thanked her sister in her head for that. She could not hear a word, all she wanted to do was being alone to deal with the situation.

No, all she wanted to do was go to Jaqen and nestle in his arms, feel the soft strands of his hair twirled in her long fingers, feel his warm skin against her cold cheek, feel safe in his powerful shoulders, just forget about everything for a moment.

 

She slowly stood up, looking at none of them, and exited the room without a word. Jon was about to go after her, but Sansa stopped him.

 

“Let her process it, Jon. You have no idea how this feels.”

 

Then Bran looked at him. He saw the young King clench his teeth, he knew that he hated himself for asking her this sacrifice. He knew that the life waiting for her at the Stag's side was a life she would hate. The life of a proper Lady, far from her family and her home, being expected to do everything she can to please her beloved husband, follow the stupid rules of southern etiquette, her own depiction of the Seven Hells.

 

“I know she will make the right decision.”, he said gently.

 

*

 

 

His master was standing a few paces from him, and he saw that he too, was terrified. He could not say anything nor move, fear had taken over his whole body. Death felt as imminent as this time beyond the wall when they had faced the army of the dead. The Lord who was about to take his life looked at him in the eyes before throwing the other Lord a smirk.

 

“But slaying a mad ruler has other consequences.”

 

Once he was only a few steps away from the bastard, the Lord knelt.

 

“My Lord, I am Eldon Estermont of Greenstone, brother of Cassandra Estermont, mother of the Usurper Robert Baratheon. House Estermont was long pledged to House Baratheon, your father's house.”

 

He was amazed. He could not help but open his mouth and shake a little after the release.

 

“My- my Lord, I'm only a bastard,-”, he said. It was the first time anyone was kneeling before him.

 

“The legit Baratheon heirs are no longer in this world. You have King Robert's blood and you are older than Edric Storm, you can use your birthright.”, another said. He wore two griffins on his armor.

 

“What birthright?! He's a bastard you said, bastards don't have birthrights!”, a soldier said angrily.

“He was brought up by a smith, how can he pretend to know anythin' 'bout rulin'?!”

 

“Ey! I may be a smith but I had good education! I know how to read and write, I bet that's more than you! I've faithfully served my whole life, I've watched the Lords and nobles treat us like shite, I've observed what mistakes they've made!”, he said, frowning and intimidating the soldier thanks to his size.

“It's not 'cause my mum was not a Lady that it makes me less capable than those privileged idiots who sat on this throne for years! And I know Jon Snow, the King in the North! I know we could avoid the war against the North and against the Dragon Queen! Or would you prefer to see your houses burnt to the ground and your children and wives melt before your eyes? Because I've seen them, I've seen the dragons and I've seen what they are capable of! There is no way the South could win this war, Cersei has fed you lies only because she's too attached to that Iron chair, but she doesn't care about your lives!”

 

At the last statement, the soldiers started to quietly smatter.

After some time, another Lord spoke.

 

“And how do you intend on bringing back the peace when that foreign invador is so eager to take the throne that you claim as yours?”

 

“Cersei accepted a parlay, and then did not fulfill her part of the contract when she was asked in order to bring peace, because she's just a power thirsty bitch! But I will, I will honor my vows, I will do everything I can to bring peace and prosperity, because I was raised among the people, and I know how it's like to live as a poor, unlike all of those privileged cunts!”

 

Gendry never felt that powerful. People listened to him, they acclaimed hi, they supported him. He was not transparent anymore, he had a purpose, a destiny, a grand one. And all of this felt like it was what he was always meant to do. Lead.

 

“He still has King's blood running through his veins! King Robert did not take the throne for it to remain vacant after his bitch wife was killed, she never should have been able to sit on that iron chair in the first place! We saw golden crowned children miserably rule this country, they knew nothing about politics either!”, the Lord said with his powerful voice.

 

“I saw this boy work his ass off his whole life, and when the time came, he was ready to join the night's watch! If aver there was a lad more loyal to the people, I know him not!”, his master said.

 

“He knows the way life goes! All his life, he lived as a poor! What better King than a King who understands what his subjects truly live!”, a man in the street shouted, followed by a group of nodding and agreeing soldiers.

 

“You are my nephew's son! From this day, you are not longer a Waters, but a Baratheon.”

 

Half the soldiers hailed in approval, raising their fists, throwing the young smith expectant looks.

The people who lived by had gotten out of their houses to see what was going on. A huge heap of soldiers and commoners was forming.

 

“House Connington was first an enemy of your father, but he was a just ruler during his time, he avoided war, he protected the houses that were pledged to him. You can be no worse of a ruler than that blonde whore.”

 

It was his time to kneel.

 

“My Lord, I, Jon Connington of Griffin's Roost, pledge you my loyalty.”

 

“The North is ruled by a bastard King and a woman, why could the South not have a bastard King too? I raised this man, saw him forge stag horns on helms and on swords since he was a boy. There was no more loyal lad, and he grew up among the people, there will be no more altruistic King!”, the Qohoriki said, slightly nodding at the boy.

 

“He should have been on the throne right after his uncle Stannis' death, why are we still waiting!”, a man in the crowd shouted.

 

Gendry heard the people in the streets bestir themselves, hailing in agreement.

 

“The former Hands Jon Arryn and Lord Stark died because they discovered who he was, their deaths will be vain if we let some silver haired reptile girl climb on that throne!”

 

He did not fully realize what was happening right now. He had always dreamed of being a High Lord, being someone in the eyes of people, but he had always been Gendry, another orphan boy wandering in the streets of Flea Bottom. He had lost his mum at a very young age, and had never gotten to know his father, and now, he owed him everything that was happening in front of him: People hailing to the “Bastard Stag King”, forming an escort all the way through the streets he knew too well.

 

People were agglutinating around him in the small street.

 

“I am Gendry Baratheon,I was raised as a bastard, in this very street, among all of you. My whole life, I worked hard, I served Lords and Kings and Queens who had no idea what it was like to have to work to get something to eat, to have a roof on their heads!

We are the people, we are this city! No King should ever rule over this city without first knowing how it's like to live in it! As a King, I will make sure that the people are the first priority, because we are the ones who matter!”, he said, the loud sound of clapping following his last phrase.

 

“Let's go make him our King!”

 

A few minutes later, there he was, the leader of a rebellion, just like his father. All of King's Landing was behind him, the real King's Landing, the people who hated Joffrey and Cersei, the people who wanted justice for their city, justice for the ones who had perished due to power thirsty nobles. They went up to the richer quarters to gather more people, all the while screaming that they had found the true heir, spitting at every lion representation they found. The inhabitants had been forced to get rid of every Baratheon banner they had, but yellow sheets were hanging from the windows. Poor and rich were behind him, loyal bannermen before him clearing the way.

 

They made their way through all the paved streets, but also the muddy streets, and Gendry was gaining more and more confidence about the situation.

He caught himself screaming many times.

 

“I am the Baratheon bastard!”or “I am the Fawn King.”

 

And it felt amazing. He finally felt like he was getting what he deserved, what he served for, what he worked for, what he was ready for for so many years. That was it, that was what he had prepared himself for.

 

He looked threatening, his big hammer on his shoulder. He was tall and muscular, the perfect stature of a king, like in the songs that tell of brave and just rulers.

 

They were now to the gates of the huge castle he had always looked at from a far. The horde of soldiers and high Lords around him drove him through the bridge, stepping on the few Lannister soldiers that had not removed their armor and were not already in the heap supporting him.

 

They all entered the Throne room, freeing the way to the Usurper's bastard. His father's former bannermen, and now the men pledged to him, wore all different types of sigils. He had heard of some, and knew why they would be at his side, like houses Selmy and Swan, Redwyne and Bracken, all here with their soldiers, hailing for their one true King.

 

As he came to this city, he was practically sure that Cersei did not stand a chance against the Northerners and Daenerys' Armies, but he could see now that she had the equivalent of a third of Westeros under her control. There were more people living in this one city than there was of peasants in the whole North, and he could still hear all of them shouting outside, the force of half a million voices were hailing his name.

 

He was amazed by the beauty and hugeness of the room, and felt like he was finally given the credit he deserved for working this hard his whole life, for surviving in the pitiless streets of Flea Bottom, when he should have belonged in here.

 

He climbed the few steps leading to the huge throne made out of swords. He had never seen it for real, only heard descriptions of it. He had always thought that people had exaggerated it's size, but it was really impressive, and the boy had to tilt his head up to see the seat.

 

On it was an old man in a black robe. He was wearing the Hand's brooch on his right side. The huge Gregor Clegane was standing next to the throne, threatening everyone who approached with a terrifying growl. He had unsheathed his heavy sword, and so had the few Lannister soldiers who had remained loyal.

 

The man rose, he looked quite surprised by this masquerade. Gendry detached himself from the crowd, readying his hammer in case of an unexpected move from the Mountain. He was petrified in front of the massive man in his indestructible armor, but he did not let any of his fear show through his features.

 

“This man is the true heir to the throne, move aside, man, and no harm will be done to you.”, the Lord Estermont spoke.

 

“My Lords.”, he said, climbing down the steps, waving at the Mountain to go off-guard.

“May I ask who this man is?”, he asked calmly, looking around to see if his guards were still around him to protect him.

 

“I am Gendry Baratheon, bastard son of Robert Baratheon, the Usurper.”, he said, trying to make himself taller than he already was.

 

The old man advanced, until he was looking in the eyes of the boy.

 

“I fled the city when the qu- when Cersei, the mad ruler you served had all the bastards assassinated because we have a greater claim on the throne than her children and her. I came back to take the throne that is mine. My father fought for it, in order to respect him and his rebellion, as well as his many years of duty ruling over the seven Kingdoms, uniting them before it all crumbled after his death, I will reinstate the good relations between the seven crowns, unify this country again, make him rise from the chaos it is in at this moment.”

 

“I have the support of the people, Dorne owes me a debt and I am friends with the rulers of the North, and half of the Lannister army who ued to be Baratheon men are already on my side, move aside, I will not ask a second time.”

 

The man looked around, saw the bannermen, the nobles, the peasants, the inhabitants of the city behind the black-haired boy, their weapons ready. He looked at the Mountain, his creation, made to protect the ones he needed to keep his position, before looking at the arrogance-filled eyes of Gendry again.

 

He only saw a peasant boy, not a King. A peasant boy could not rule, he did not have the education, nor the charisma, although it was true that he looked like his father. But the peasant boy had all of King's Landing behind him, supporting him. Nobles and commoners, soldiers and children. Cersei Lannister must have been even more hated than he thought for the people and her allies to break their pacts and turn their backs to her successor as soon as a bastard who claimed to have King's blood in his veins made his appearance and claimed the throne despite never having seen the shadow of a crown before. But there was no other choice if the scientist wanted to live.

 

He bowed his head, before moving aside.

 

“I can not go back in time and change my acts, but I can serve you well. I can only beg for mercy, your grace. The throne is yours, as well as Ser Gregor, he'll do whaterver you ask from him.”, he said, unnoticeably clenching his teeth.

 

Gendry looked at Lord Estermont confused. The man frowned.

 

“This man served Cersei blindly, your grace, you could send him to the Wall in order for him to repay for his crimes, or accept him under your service for him to prove his worth, or you could show your people what happens to the one who supported Cersei in every of her moves.”

 

He looked at the man again, and asked himself what a King would do.

He climbed the steps of the throne, and looked over the crowded room. People looked very small from here, when he was hovering over them from this high seat. He took a deep breath in. He had never been given the opportunity to decide of the fate of a man. But now was the time to prove his strength, to show his people than they had not just crowned a peasant boy. They had just crowned a true King.

 

“Former Hand of the Queen, you are accused of advising Cersei Lannister, of supporting her choice of blowing a Sept full of innocent people, you are accused creating a creature that kills innocents, you are accused of being the mad Queen's adviser, and that means that you are as responsible as her for her crimes!”

 

The man's eyes widened, and he shook his head unceasingly as the Lords behind him were smiling, apparently satisfied with the boy's decision.

 

The people cheered, and nothing ever felt so satisfying.

 

_Here, that is what I was born to do_

_Be acclaimed and loved_

 

“Ser Gregor!”, he said, waving at the massive man concealed under his armor.

 

In one move and without hesitation, the heap of muscles unsheathed his sword, that looked ridicoulous compared to his size, and sliced the kneeling and begging man's neck. His head fell heavily to the ground, and the people cheered and applauded for their King. And Gendry felt the thrill of power rush through his whole body, taking over every inch of his being, flowing through his veins like poison.

 

“I, Gendry Baratheon, pledge myself to you, the Kingdom. I swear to take the right decisions for the good of the people, I swear to do my best for our Kingdom to prosper under my governance!”

 

“Your grace,”, Lord Estermont started, “are you planning on uniting the North and the South again? I knew no better times than when your father was befriended with the governor of the south, Lord Eddard Stark.”

 

People started booing at the mention of Eddard Stark, and suddenly, Gendry felt a little bit overwhelmed. But he frowned and raised from his seat.

 

“I did not know Eddard Stark, but I know the King in the North, Jon Snow. He is a noble man, a King chosen by his people, always ready to support them, go to batlle for them.

And he has the Dragon Queen on his side!"

_I am a King now_

"I, your chosen King, will unite both of our Kingdoms, restore the strengh and the glory our lands once knew!"

 

**A few moments later**

 

“I plan on restoring the strong union between Starks and Baratheon, the union that made the strength of the seven Kingdom. I will gain our freedom forever, keep the stranger ruler away from us! I will marry the King in the North's youngest sister, Arya Stark! Send the King in the North this message immediately please.”, he addressed his new advisors.

 

_Long live the King!_

_Long live the King!_ The sound of thei hails were still in his head, playing like a sweet lullaby as he thought about his future Queen.

 

*

 

He was staring at the closed door, it had been minutes, hours, maybe years. He could not remember. Her presence could still be sensed in the room. Her smell, her face, her voice, the essence of Arya Stark was still dancing around him. It was his God playing one of his vicious games again, daunting him, asking him how he could have ever even thought about deserving her love. The God had made her Arya Stark of Winterfell, and she was meant to marry Kings and birth princes and spend every day of her life relishing royalty and a peaceful life. And he had made him Jaqen H'ghar, a man whose fate was not to spend peaceful days loving a wild northerner. Jaqen H'ghar was a servant, and he would always be. But the God had punished the both of them with seeds of love, only to later enjoy the show of looking an a man, forced to shatter his own and his beloved hearts to pieces for her own good. Jaqen knew it was all his fault, he never should have crossed the line, he never should have loved her this way, he never should have desired her. But it was too late now, he was mad, unrepairable. And the only thing he wished is that he broke her enough so that she could fix herself again from this madness he selfishly engulfed her in too.

 

And for the first time in what had been decades, for the first time since he was a boy, he felt a tear run down his cheek.

 

_Dear God_

_I hate you_

 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...of course, everything could not go as planned, it's GoT after all...  
> Did you expect this character's return? What do you think will happen next?
> 
> I have not started to write next chapter yet, so do not be sursprised if there is none next week, but I will do my best I promise ;)  
> Love you all, thanks for the support and all the kudos ! <3  
> Btw, this chapter was named after a fan's video I like a lot, 'Dear God', on Youtube, you should check it out ;)


	17. Salt and Stones

“How could he?! I should have sliced him in half the second he introduced himself-”

 

“Jon-”, Sansa tried to intervene.

 

“I thought he loved her!”, Jon shouted, making the walls tremble.

“And now he's giving us an ultimatum so she cannot refuse to marry him?!”

 

He looked like a beast trapped in a cage, perambulating, hating himself for the sacrifice he had asked Arya, brooding and cursing himself and the new King in his head and every single man who had ever dared to lay their filthy eyes on his precious little sister. Daenerys was looking at him as if she worried that he would explode.

 

“I'll kill him, I'll kill them all I swear if they ever-”

 

“But how did he access the throne so easily?”, Sansa asked, trying to loosen the atmosphere.

 

“Putting him on the throne was a political move from the High Lords controlling him.” Varys started with a calm tone, the only person who did not look too concerned about the situation.

 

Of course, this was not the first marriage for political reasons he had had to deal with. But Jon was almost going crazy with anger, and sorrow was not concealed on Sansa's face. She did not want her sister to go through all the things she had to go through, the things that had left permanent marks on her body and in her mind. Despite Gendry being known as a kind and devoted boy, she knew Arya would never love him, nor the life as a lady she would have by his side.

 

“He had no education, he was not raised as a High born, he has no idea how to rule a country. That makes him easily controllable by his bannermen. They will use the fact that he was raised among the people to gain their trust, they will use him as an image, but the real ones controlling the kingdom will be the High Lords around him, men who still have power in the South, like Lord Estermont, or Lord Connington. Moreover…by asking Lady Arya in marriage, they prove the people that the seven Kingdoms are united again, but they're also preventing any attack coming from…you.”

 

Daenerys sighed. Of course she had understood that, and of course, once the great war would be over, they would need to find a solution to that too.

 

“People in the South know about your… relationship with the King in the North, your grace. By crowning Lady Arya, they are securing peace with the North, but also with you, mostly with you. You are a threat to them.”

 

“And can we trust their decisions, concerning the armies that we need to defeat the real threat?”, the dragon Queen asked.

 

Jon saw in her eyes that she did not know what to do. She could not give up the throne, she was made for ruling, she could not let a boy sit on the throne she was born to occupy, nor let old men pull the strings of the Kingdom right before her eyes. But she could not lead an attack on King's Landing after the great war. She knew she would not have enough men, and she would not risk Arya's life, she knew how precious she was to Jon. And if the people grew a liking for their new King, they would see her as an invader, hate her as a ruler, and a civil war like she had had in Mereen was the last thing she needed.

 

“What matters is that Gendry Baratheon knows about the real threat. Even if he is not truly the one holding the reins, he remains a King, his bannermen will respect his will, and accept the trade.”, he stated as calmly as before, but Jon clenched his teeth on his last words, although he knew it was the right term to use.

“When I served Robert Baratheon, they remained very loyal to him. They are old men, very attached to their traditions and their sense of duty. They will defend Gendry Baratheon's claim on the throne body and soul, it is the only way left they have to access some kind of power, they will not risk sending their armies until their King does not have a Queen and his seat is not secured. I would recommend escorting Lady Arya South, and then come back to ensure that they honor their part of the agreement.”

 

“They will have to travel as fast as possible, the army of the Dead is progressing faster by the day because of cold settling in Westeros.”, Daenerys added, looking at Jon.

 

She wanted this war against the dead to be over, but she also knew that Jon would want to spend as much time as possible with his sister before they would be apart. Viserys had never taken care of her, never loved her the way a brother should, never protected her. He had sold her in exchange of an army, and Jon knew, he knew the way it had made her feel to be wed to Khal Drogo against her will, he knew the situation was mirrored with his little sister. But Jon was different. He was a good man, a good leader, a good brother. He would want to travel with her, and despite Arya Stark not being upset at him for forcing this marriage upon her, Daenerys knew he was seeking forgiveness.

 

“I will escort her myself, we will travel with Rhaegal, we should reach King's Landing in two days.”, Jon said, watching his Queen nodding in approval.

 

Daenerys knew he hated himself for this situation, she knew he felt responsible. And there was nothing she could do or that anyone could do to ease his inner pain.

She promised herself that under her reign, marriage would never be forced upon girls anymore, she promised herself that she would find a way to make women the equals of men.

 

“Right. When I am gone, I want you to gather all the information you can on the Whites. I want to know where they are, and I want the maesters to calculate how much time we have left to prepare until they reach the proper place in which we can hit them and actually have a chance to defeat them.”

 

“We would need to send some men”, Varys started, his hands hidden in his wide and furry sleeves and a calm expression on his face, as usual.

“It's too risky to send dragons there. We should gather a group of soldiers to travel north to see and gather the information you need.”

 

“Ser Jorah”, Daenerys addressed the old Knight.

“You know the soldiers around this castle, you've been living with them and training them for months now. You will find the five best men you have and tell them to prepare themselves for this travel.”

 

“If I may…your grace…”, Varys intervened again.

“I would advise you to send soldiers who would surely not survive the real war. This is only an informative mission, it would be… a pity… to lose even one fine fighter by sending him out there.”

 

“I must agree with him, Khaleesi. The ones who don't stand a chance… it will be mercy for the men.”

 

Daenerys clenched her teeth.

 

_This is not the kind of ruler that I want to be_

 

It was what she feared the most. Become like her father, not care about her loyal people's lives and send them in traps without a second thought was the worst she could imagine. But her advisers were right, and there was no other way. Flying was way too dangerous, and they had to spare every single good fighter they had.

 

*

 

She was in the Godswood, she was sitting here for what had been hours, days, maybe. Everything was still, in here. She sought that silence, she wanted to think. No one came to disturb her here, no one annoyed her by asking her if she would rather take her blue winter coat or her green one, no one was swarming around her, packing her things and making her old bedroom look like it did not belong to her anymore.

 

The snowflakes were like caught in their fall, and it was easy to forget about time flowing. Every second she spent staring at the pure and white snow was a second of freedom she wanted to relish.

 

But she could not. The only thing she could think about, the only thing that had tormented her mind all night long and that had stolen her sleep, her thoughts, her reason was this despicable man. She had not even recited her list of names, she had tossed and turned in her bed all night long. Truth was, she did not want to say his name, nor Gendry's. Everything still felt like a bad joke.

Everything she thought she knew about her former master was wrong, so wrong. She had believed he had left the temple for her. She had believed in safety when she was around him.

 

_For fuck's sake_ , she thought, biting on her lower lip so hard she could taste a bit of metal, the tears being so hard to restrain from falling that it felt like sorrow was strangling her, making it impossible to breathe, to think about anything else.

 

She could not even think about ways to torture him, she could not even think about revenge.

She could only curse herself for being such a fool, and falling for someone who was literally no one.

 

Her heart felt like it was bleeding, and every single snowflake that fell from the sky was like a slap in the face, reminding her that time was still flowing while she was here trying to figure out a way to not perish inside, every single particle of snow that molded into the ground was one more second of freedom ripped away from her forever.

 

She was not Arya Stark anymore. Arya Stark would never lamentably stare at the ground for hours in the freezing cold of the northern winter for a man.

But a man had destroyed Arya Stark. He had stolen her with his touches, his caresses, his sweet words. He had turned her mad for him and made her blind, so that she would not see that he was treating her like a mere **object** , whose only purpose is to sate his natural lust and then throw away once it has served him enough. She was gritting her teeth and clenching her fists so tight she could have broken anything she would have held. She did not want to cry, she had wasted enough time and enough energy on this piece of scum. Anger was consuming her, twisting her mind. She felt like hitting herself, hard, so hard her head would knock on the floor and she would feel fizzy and hear that deafening sound, until she would feel herself slide from consciousness and float away, far, very far from wars and Kings and men and Gods.

 

_For fuck's sake_

_What kind of moron would fall for a professional liar?!_

_Idiots without the slightest bit of honor and foolish hooker maidens_

_And how many of them did he screw right before my eyes before I finally saw that he was making fun of me?!_

 

A joke. It all felt like a joke. A marriage proposal to a King she could not refuse, an army of mythical dead walking creatures rushing upon them, dragons, being taken for an idiot by a man she thought she knew…

It all felt like a really bad joke or one of these stupid dreams that make no sense and that result in one waking up confused and angry.

And there was no escape. There was no undoing. There was no other option than go to King's Landing and be a freaking slut for someone else.

 

The idea repulsed her. His stupid bull's eyes upon her, looking at her like he owned her, like he knew her. Being married had never been something she wanted, even less be a Queen or some kind of lady serving her husband. She felt the bile in her throat when the thought of her serving Gendry the way a _wife_ should came up in her mind.

 

And she knew it was a smart move, politically speaking, to ask her hand. She was not very diplomatic, but she was not stupid. With her at his side, the new King secured an alliance with the North and the Dragon Queen, restored peace in Westeros, and it was also a proof for those who did not believe in the Night King that he really existed, or else Jon Snow, the King in the North would never exchange her for an army. He had every reason to marry her. But she knew all of this was not his main reason. No, she knew this filthy bastard only forced this marriage upon her because he thought that now that he was a King, he had a right on her, he thought this disgusting thing he was feeling, that was probably lust, was love. But he knew nothing about love. Neither did she. Everything she thought she knew had been shattered to pieces.

 

_'What did a girl think she was to a man?'_

 

It was like an awful melody in her head, an unceasingly and annoying bell ringing right next to her ear, like a slap in the face each time she thought about the way his lips moved, the way his eyes looked empty, the way his face was perfectly composed when he uttered those words that killed her inside.

 

She should have killed him the second her eyes met the satisfied look on that filthy maiden's face, instead of suffering the cyclone of emotions that had formed in her mind, weighing her arms and legs, making her unable to move, instead of listening to the voices spitting insults at her, her own voice, in millions of fragments, reflecting on the mirrors in her head, turning her more and more crazy each time she blinked, every time she realized it was not a dream. She could have, she had brought her sword, she never leaves it, he knew. And he was not armed, he was turning his back to her, it would have been easy, even with his faceless man's skills.

 

_Why the hell did I not do it instead of just freeze and walk away?!_

_It would have been easy_

_Too easy, even_

 

It did not matter anymore. She was about to leave. In a few hours, she would be riding a dragon.

She should be thrilled to ride one of those glorious beasts, to be one of the very few people who have experienced flying, but she could not be happy about it. The only thing she could think about was that this magnificent creature would take her to a place where she would not be free. This ride, it was like giving jam to the pig before slicing his throat. She did not want to think about it, she had not even packed her own things. Luckily, Sansa had been there and given orders so that she would have something to cover herself with and not wander around naked in the corridors of the Red Keep. All she needed was Needle, and the cutthroat, the new addition to the things she always had on her. Needle had become an extension of her arm, and she loved the way the valyrian steel dagger danced, following the rhythm of her wrists. And the dagger, she loved how it created surprise to whoever was training against her, especially when she had fought with her right hand and then suddenly unsheathed the little knife with her left and confused her enemy. But there was this other thing she always had on her, something she had forgotten and that felt like another hit in the guts when her hand found it in her pocket. An iron coin, old and awfully carved.

 

The thing was not pretty. The face carved in it had no detail, the words _Valar morghulis_ were barely readable, surely it was no artwork, and it was the thing that had the less value in comparison to Needle and the Cutthroat. But it had value in her heart.

 

_Used to have. It used to have value_ , she thought, raising her hand to toss the ugly piece of iron far away in the snow.

 

But her arm suddenly felt weak, and tears threatened to fall again.

 

_This shit doesn't make any sense,_ she thought lowering her arm, fighting to repress the ache in her throat strangling her, making it hard to breathe the cold and refreshing air she needed so much.

 

There was the sound of footsteps packing snow, light footsteps, along with the sound of heavy furs and expensive fabric.

 

_Sansa_

 

She straightened her back, put the coin back in her pocket again and hoped that her face would not be too readable. She knew her siblings were not glad to exchange her for an army, but there was no other way, and they felt enough guilt.

 

“Here you are.”, Sansa said, a gentle smile empathizing her delicate features.

 

The light of the Godswood and the contrast of the white snow made her auburn hair look like fire, warming the atmosphere as well as her charming smile.

She sat next to her, and Arya could feel the heat coming from her body.

 

After some minutes of silence, Sansa cleared her voice.

 

“Arya…you should really talk to Jon-”

 

“I know.”, she quickly cut her.

 

She had not addressed to her brother since last night, but truth was, she had not found the courage to deal with everything that had happened and every feeling that had tormented her. She needed solitude and silence to find herself again. But she knew her brother was dying with guilt. She took a deep breath, but did not look at Sansa's pity eyes.

 

“I know, I will, I just…I needed some time.”, she said, staring at the snowflakes falling in the blackpool.

 

After a few long minutes of silence, Sansa spoke again, her tone softer this time.

 

“You should also talk to Samwell Tarly before you leave.”

 

“Samwell Tarly?”, Arya asked frowning.

 

“Yes, Jon's firend, the scientist. Hum…there is…Arya, there is something I need to tell you, and…no one else will.”

 

Arya frowned again.

 

_Great, another thing_

 

Sansa blushed, and even a blind and deaf old man would have felt her unease. She shifted slightly in her seat, and it was her turn to stare at the ground.

 

“See, once you will be married, there are some…things you will have to do for your husband, that implies-”

 

“Sex.”, Arya cut her again, desperately trying to shorten this conversation.

“I do know about this Sansa, we've talked about far more-”

 

“Bear children, Arya. You will have to give your husband sons and daughters.”, Sansa cut her in turn, losing some of her tact after noticing that it was of no use with her raw little sister.

 

“But, you might not want to have children…right away. There are very few things you will be allowed to decide for yourself, and having children is something that you should want before it happens.”

 

“I fear I won't be able to restrain him for very long.”

 

“No, no, it's not about restraining him, you'll still have to…do your marital duties in that way…But, when I was in the Eryie, aunt Lysa told me she was with child before she was wed to Lord Arryn, but that her father made her drink something called Moon Tea and then…she was not with child anymore.”, she outed, struggling to find her words.

 

“You mean…”

 

“You will still have to produce him heirs, someday, Arya. But…I know it's not easy, especially in the beginning, I know that bear an unwanted child would have made things far worse when I was married, and you should not have to go through this. And you told me you know how to prepare some potions, I'm sure Lord Tarly knows about Moon Tea, and it should not be that difficult to prepare, I-I'm sure you could do it, you're very smart a-and-”, she was getting carried away with her words, her thoughts, her eyes were glimmering, tears forming and her lower lip twitching, and Arya could not resist the urge of taking her in her arms.

 

She could not help but feel the warm tears run on her cheeks, mingling with her sister's. She felt safe in her embrace, she felt home, and they would be separated in mere hours, they did not know if they would ever see each other again. What kind of God decides such cruel fates? She was hardly back from Essos, reunited with the remaining members of her family for the first time in years, and for the first time in her life, she had relished having a sister, enjoyed the little talks despite finding them ridiculous, cherished those times when she had made her laugh while braiding her hair.

She had a sister, but she was not just someone who shared her name and blood, she was a friend, someone who shared her life, who advised her, who was the kindness taming her angry temper. She needed her.

 

“I can't believe it, I-I… and you, Arya I swear we'll meet again.”, she was fighting against her sobs, struggling to breathe.

“I- I swear it by the Old Gods and the new, by every damned God there is.”

 

“Oh- Sansa…”

 

Some time passed, they were just holding each other, keeping warm. They were like in a bubble of safety, here, surrounded by snow and the biting cold, their element. The weeping tree watched over them, like when they were little girls joyfully playing hide and seek in the woods with their brothers, when none of them knew what the words 'bastard' or 'treason' or 'war' meant. And for an instant, just during the blink of an eye, Arya felt like her parents had joined the embrace, she could almost feel her father's strong arms encircling the both of them, feel her mother's gentle hand caress her hair, before the deep feeling of shelter left her as suddenly as it had appeared.

 

“And about your teacher from Essos, I'm so sorry, I'm sure he will come back to you…”, she said gently.

 

_He can go to hell there is no way he's getting aw-_

_Wait_

 

“W-wait how do you know? You've heard the chambermaids?”, she asked frowning and shaking her head.

 

“Hum… no, he came to inform us.”

 

“To inform you? But from what?!”, Arya asked again frowning more, confusion again on her face.

 

“That he was leaving with his pupils, we tried to convince him to stay but he insisted-”

 

“Leaving where?!”, Arya hissed.

 

Again, she hated herself for not understanding what was going on. She had detached herself fully from her sister now, and her hands were shaking but she could not place why.

 

“Why North of course, from where should he come back if not from-”

 

“I didn't know he was leaving! Wh-why the hell would he go North?!”

 

Her eyes went wide, and her skin was probably the palest it had ever been. But she hated herself for reacting so. She could not help but fear for him, and she cursed herself many times in her head for caring this much for him.

 

“He told you nothing?”, Sansa asked, way calmer than her little sister but also trying to understand.

“Arya, he left with his pupils, we needed some men to travel North to inform us about the progression of the white walkers since it's too dangerous for Bran and Daenerys.”

 

“W-why did you send _him_?”

 

_A suicide mission_

 

_How the hell is he gonna serve his dear God from a grave?!_

 

Arya could not restrain the images from flashing in her head. She had never seen a white walker, but she had heard descriptions of them. 'Walking corpses', 'Ice demons', enough for her to imagine. And in her mind she could see him, standing alone in front of them, all of them, rushing towards him.

 

_That man is no one_

_No-one_

_He doesn't care about you so why would you care about him?!_

_Yet, something feels odd-_

 

“We didn't! We almost begged him to stay! But he insisted, and…I don't understand, why didn't he tell you?”

 

And suddenly everything went clear. It was like the thick cloth that had been veiling her eyes fell off.

 

_The chambermaid_

_His back turned, Needle in my hand_

_Then this suicidal raid_

 

_He knew about the marriage agreement, he knew before I did_

 

She sprang on her feet, surprising her sister and all of the spirits that were peacefully swimming in the cold air around them. And she ran. She did not think, she just ran. There was the sound of her sister's voice, already far, but did not listen, she would never know what it was that she was yelling so loud but she suspected it was something like 'It's too late', and she did not want to hear it.

 

Every eyes went on her as she entered the courtyard for a few seconds, just the time she needed to reach the open gate, and she kept running, just ran away, snow cracking under her swift feet, tears freezing on her cheeks. No one ran after her, no one dared.

 

She ran. She did not care if she looked ridiculous. She ran North. She ran until she could not feel her legs anymore, until her feet could not carry her anymore, sore from the cold, until her face was fully frozen, with icicles forming on her jaw, until she found it hard to breathe, and tasted metal in the back of her throat. And even then, she continued until she felt the hard ground against her cheek.

 

And then she screamed. She used what was left of air in her body. The loudest, most desperate scream she had never outed, and she prayed that he would hear her.

 

“Jaqen, you fool!”

 

But she was the fool. She should have understood sooner. He had manipulated her for her own good, because somehow he thought she was better off without him. Oh- the fool. He had shaped her, didn't care if she would hate him, again. Again. Just like when he sent the Waif off to kill her. He knew she would win the fight, knew she needed that to embrace Arya Stark's identity, but also knew she would hate him for it. And she had not killed him, for _some_ reason, and he had let her go. Even though she hated him and even though he was inwardly praying for the gift, twice, she had not killed him for that same reason.

 

She loved him.

 

And he loved her.

 

He had begged for the gift, and now he was on the road towards his own death.

 

And she cursed, sobbed and punched the air because it all looked like some bad mummer's play or some annoying song about damned and damnable fair maidens and noble Knights with butterflies fluttering in their stomachs, miserably whining about their fate.

 

She had always hated those stories.

 

_No, this is different_

 

_So different_

 

Her bleeding heart, the strangling sorrow, her vision blurred by the tears and hardly catching her breath, the sound of that irking voice in her head that she desperately wanted to shut, echoing _'It's too late'_ in a sing song.

 

Never had she cried over someone's loss more than over his. Not for her father, not for her mother, not for her lost brothers. Only for him. First in the temple, then now. And she cursed again and again, for every teardrop that hit the ground. There she was, all alone in the depth of winter, somewhere North, crying her eyes out like some miserable thing the real Arya would have mercilessly judged and even insulted.

 

Suddenly, she felt a hot breath, making strands of her hair fly around her face. Then, the warmth and softness of fur brushing against her cheek. But even the warmth did not soothe her pain.

 

“Ghost…take me back home…”

 

*

 

He heard her light steps from a far, along with the sound of droplets of water hitting the ground and the smell of humid earth and dust, flying around the statues of the crypts. The light of the candles the statues were holding reflected on the hard stone walls, making them glow. He had lit the candles his ancestors' statues were holding himself, but he had stopped in front of Lyanna's.

 

“Northerners are better at fighting than carving statues.”, she said with her cold voice, blankly staring at the newest addition to the crypt, the statue of their uncle Benjen, which was sitting next to her fathers, in front of Robb's and Rickon's.

 

Indeed, Eddard Stark's statue was a masterpiece compared to this one. No one knew what he looked like except for the four of them, and the person who had carved his face had given him the typical traits of Northerners, a long face and a sharp nose, small eyes and thin lips, and had ignored completely the description Jon had given him from his uncle.

 

He approached her, the clatter of his leather boots hitting the tiles and the swish sound of his heavy cloak accompanying his movement.

 

“Arya, I'm-”

 

“Don't apologize.”, she cut him, gently smiling. A smile that felt so deeply false and forced. A smile to reassure _him_ , when she was the one making the sacrifice.

“We need to win this war, at all costs.”

 

He sighed sadly, looked at her again, scouted every detail of her face. He knew she had been taught how to lie perfectly, how to hide her feelings, and he did not want her to repress her emotions when he was the only one around. He wanted her to feel safe with him, to be herself, to feel free.

 

“Yes, but-”

 

“I will be fine, Jon.”, she said looking at him.

 

But her eyes, her tone, her tired voice, everything denied what she was stating with words, and it was like she tried to convince him but also herself with her statement. There was something missing in her look, that sparkle of life and arrogance she always had had been replaced with a profound and dim gleam of sorrow, like something had been broken far beyond repair, and this look he never ever wanted to see on her face felt like a strangle, another reminder that he had forced her to sacrifice her life, her dreams of adventures and freedom.

 

“I'm marrying Gendry. You know him, he's alright, everything will be alright.”, she added, her gaze falling to the ground, blankly staring at the dusty stone tiles.

 

“You're tough, I know you are. I'll miss you.”, he entered her emotionless game.

 

But the both of them could not hold for very long. Not a minute of silence passed and he found himself squeezing her tight, lifting her from the ground, her skinny yet strong arms wrapped sturdily around him, her face buried in his dark locks. She weighed nothing, and like that, it was as if they had been carved together. None of them wanted to let go, they could stay like that for hours, days, even years, not saying a word and barely breathing, turning into stone.

 

“If he ever hurts you, if he ever even vexes you, I swear Arya, I swear, just send me a raven and I will ride day and night to come and kill him with my own hands, I don't care if you don't need me for that, I don't care if there's another war-”

 

“Hush…”

 

There was another moment of silence. Another long moment during which they just held onto each other like an anchor holds a ship, prevents it from drifting away, and he tried to figure out her smell exactly so that he would never forget it. The smell of fresh snow and a dash of soap, and her round, womanly scent along with a hint of steel.

 

“Father would be proud.”, she said as her feet touched the ground again.

 

“No. He's probably cursing me from where he is.”

 

“No.”, she added, shaking her head.

“It's the right thing to do, Jon. He knows it.”

 

They both looked at Lyanna's statue, and Jon asked himself if this statue too was another poor replica of it's model.

 

_Father would not have let that happen_

 

She was quite beautiful. A northern, untameable, fierce and unique beauty. He could not see on the statue, but he guessed she had pale skin and dark locks, just like him. The statue looked desperate, the way it was posed and the way the artist carved her delicate features, Jon knew it was wrong _._

 

_She should have been carved with a passionate gleam in her eyes, an arrogant smile and a bow in her hands if the songs did not lie_

 

Father did not speak much about her, but he knew thanks to the songs he never paid attention to, that she was far from the typical, distressed and fragile woman. Now he wished he had paid more attention to the songs.

 

_'A relentless thing, a northerner to the bone. Fifteen and riding a horse like a true knight, shooting arrows and fighting like a man, but with the grace and the style of a woman.'_

 

He wished he could have known her. He knew he would have gotten along with her. He knew Arya resembled her, on many levels. Not just physically, but also in her personality. This northern spirit, family's pride but also cold and passionate temper, and this dangerousness and audacity that made all of her charm.

 

“It's sad.”, she cut his flow of thoughts, broke the silence that was reigning in the cold room.

“Her story.”

 

“Hm”, he growled, discretely comparing Arya's face and the statue's.

 

_That expression is wrong, so wrong. On both of their faces._

 

“She too was supposed to marry a Baratheon. People can't stop saying how similar I am to her. I hope my story won't be as terrible as hers.”, she added, sadly smiling.

 

“It won't.”, he stated with assurance and a protective tone.

“I'll make sure of that.”

 

There was another moment of silence. The spirits of their ancestors were like a wall, protecting them from the exterior dangers, protecting them from the cold and from their fates, whispering soothing words in their frozen ears.

 

“Arya, there is something you have to know about her story.”

 

And all of the swarming souls stilled.

 

“She was not kidnapped and raped. She ran away with the man she loved.”, he outed, staring at the cold stone's statue.

 

“Bran?”, she asked, watched him nod.

“So…Robert did not lead a Rebellion to save her, he led a Rebellion because he was jealous? And then he fed everyone lies about-”

 

“He never knew. He did not know her, he did not take the time. All that mattered to him was having a wife as untamable as the wind, like a prize. He did not know she loved Rhaegar. He did not know she willingly followed him. He did not know about their marriage in Dorne, nor about their child.”

 

“They had a child?!”, she asked frowning.

“But what happened to him, in all the stories I've been taught it was never mentioned-”

 

He looked at her, watched her brows raise slowly and her mouth slightly open as her eyes widened, and he could almost her the click in her head as she understood. He first instinct was to take a step back.

 

“Jon…”

 

“You mustn't tell anyone. Only you, Bran, Sam, Daenerys and I know about it-”

 

“You're the heir to the throne…”, she mumbled in a whisper.

 

“I don't want the throne. It's hers, it has always been. She was born to rule, all I want is to defeat the army of the dead, make sure everyone in this country is safe. They will be under her reign.”

 

Her mouth was still open, and for a while, she just looked at him, scouted every detail of his face, every strand of his hair and young beard.

 

“And in any case, the true heir is the child she is bearing…”, he rambled, looking for a reaction.

 

She smiled.

 

“Yes…your child…I hope he'll be the one chopping my husband's head off when he takes the throne then.”, she joked, the sad look back on her face.

 

“Don't say that…he loves you, and you will learn to love him, eventually. Someday, it'll be easy.”

 

“I'll never love someone like Gendry, and he'll never love me. He will never stay faithful to me.”

 

That statement broke Jon's heart. Because it was true. She too, would be a prize to Gendry.

 

“But you're right.”, she added, a fake smile on her lips.

“Someday, it'll be easy. We must go now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, thank you for keeping up so far :)
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> Have a wonderful morning, day or evening! <3


	18. Caught in Frost

Her parent's room looked even bigger now. Arya was gone, Jon was gone, the castle was quiet, and there was this stillness weighing the cold air down, and it was like the snowflakes had remained caught in their fall since her little sister left. Everyone was doing as they was bid, training, packing, preparing, but everybody was waiting, waiting for it to be all over. She was all alone in her big and cold room. From her window in the Great Keep, she could observe every person, every creature that wandered in the castle. There was Ghost, on a rampart, just like her, sitting and patiently waiting. But she was not sure about what she was waiting for. During the day, she ruled over the castle, took the important decisions, the logistic decisions, scheduled everything that needed organization. She liked it, she was good at it, but when the sun set, she became Sansa again, the shadows haunting her nights reappeared and danced around her, her insecurities.

 

_A lady ruling over a great house has no time for insecurities_ , she had tried to tell herself many times, but in vain.

_There is no safety_ , that annoying little voice kept reminding her. Every person she had not her eyes on, she could lose forever anytime.

Arya and Jon, gone to King's Landing, what if it was a strategy to take care of the King in the North? She might never see them again…and this feeling daunted her, stole her sleep and her thoughts, because she was completely powerless again, and she had lost too much, too much to survive another death or treason.

She walked away from the window. Waiting like that was pure torture. She needed air. Real air, and space. Despite the sky darkening already, she went down the stairs crossed the courtyard and found herself in the Godswood. The Face carved in the red maple tree had sap running down it's cheeks, as if he too was mourning, over the departure of Arya, over the long lost days of summer and safety and airiness. But she could not stand staring at that face either. She did not want to see any face that wore an expression that even resembled despair. She swiftly made her way through the trees that reminded her of her childhood, and found herself in the Glass Garden.

A big Garden, as if trapped under a cage of glass and wood and stone, that kept the warmth in. She had never paid much attention to this place, it was only a place used for harvest. There was no one left. Farmers and Gardeners had already returned to their families. The air was warm in there, the gardens were located over the hot spring that alimented the bath chambers, the same spring that heated the Great Keep, allowing them to grow vegetables to put in their stew even during the cold winter. The warm air was not hard to breathe in, unlike outside, where the biting cold made it almost hurtful. There were a few plants, some fruits, she knew too well because it had been the only things she had been eating since months. But she walked to the very end of the long and low ceiling greenhouse, where the flowers were grown.

She did not know why the farmers kept planting them now that winter had come, the were of no use since they would die if they would be replanted outside the gardens. But she could not deny the fact that even here, they were lovely to look at. There were some little white ones that looked like snowflakes, a bush full of those bright red berries Sansa had been taught never to touch as a child. But the flower that captivated all of the attention, the first thing anyone would notice, was the blue winter rose. There were different kinds, each a different hue of blue, some pale and almost white, some a deep royal blue that almost looked purple from a far. The rare flowers of the North, mesmerizing and graceful, yet those roses had twice as much thorns as the regular roses. It was like raw beauty, in it's natural shape and most of all, untouchable. She closed her eyes as a familiar melody invaded her mind.

_Six maids in a pool_  
They're of noble blood  
One Fool, but great, on the shore  
He'd seen that flower full of love  
"She'll be in my garden" - he'd sworn  
Her name was Jonquil, pure child  
Tough father had made a deal:  
By ugly, full of money lord  
That beauty will have to be killed, oh 

She was murmuring, her voice almost inaudible. But the melody was flying around her, the wind howling outside and the light echo of her soft voice reverberating on the walls accompanying her. She was singing to the flowers, and they seemed to listen.

~~~~_  
__Oh oh, glorious Florian-_  
He was the first who had opened her thighs  
Oh oh, glorious Florian,  
Run from thousands of lies  
To the happiest day of their lives  
He was a knight of famous name,  
The owner of Furious sword  
But now he's fool with motley shield  
Because of cutting word.

She sang, her delicate fingers brushing against the cold petals of the fragile flower, and she wished this terrible feeling could escape her as easily as the light leaves fly in the wind.

She breathed out, a long cold sigh, closed her eyes, her way to chase the grief away. And everything around her faded, she could not hear anything but her own voice, could not see anything else than the darkness her lids procured her. The usual joyful din of the song was replaced by deep sorrow as the verses escaped through her lips.

~~~~_  
__Despite of misery and fate,_  
Pride's what he feels for real  
He'll care about vows he gave  
With blade of Valyrian steel, oh  
Oh oh, glorious Florian-  
He was the first who had opened her thighs  
Oh oh, glorious Florian,  
Run from thousands of lies  
To the happiest day of their lives

__  
Oh oh, glorious Florian-  
He was the first who had stolen her bud,  
Kissing her petals  &Whispering swears,  
Green grass had coloured with blood.  
Oh oh, glorious Florian-  
He was the first who had opened her thighs  
Oh oh, glorious Florian,  
Run from thousands of lies  
To the happiest day of their lives 

  


“I finally get to hear it.”, the growl of a voice precipitated her out of her dreamy world.

But she still wondered if she was not dreaming when her eyes met the familiar shape in the darkness. She guessed his gray eyes looking at her, the burnt flesh, and she knew he was smiling. Not a big, amused smile, baring all of his teeth. No, a slight and appeased smile. And there were no words to explain, no songs that ever described well enough this huge release she felt at this moment. It was like the world around them had stopped for a moment, just so he could reassure her by his mere presence.

He was standing right next to her, she asked herself how he managed to enter without a sound, as he was usually not one to go unnoticed. But as she felt the warmth of his body so close to hers, his gaze on her looking so tenderly, she ceased questioning herself and could not help but gently brush her hand against his cheek and feel the burning trails of what had been tears on his wounded flesh.

_Just like that evening_

She did not think. She just acted. It was like she was watching the scene from another point of view when she realized she was tip toeing and pressing her lips against his. But he did not take a step back like she imagined he would. After the second of surprise, he ducked his head to make her more comfortable, ran a calloused thumb across her flushed cheek the same way she had been carefully touching the winter rose petals a few moments ago.

The kiss was nothing like the previous times she had been kissed. For the first time, she was the one initiating it. It did not feel superficial and wrong and minutely calculated like when Joffrey had given her her first kiss. It was not too sure and thrilling like when Littlefinger kissed her. It was the exact opposite of Ramsay's kisses, not at all owning and terrifying. It was not perfect. He smelled of steel and horses, her hands trembled slightly and she was blushing more than she wanted. It was dark and cold, there was no warm and soft wind toying with her hair, there were no birds singing and filling the silence. But she loved it. It was perfectly imperfect, because it was just them. There were no hidden schemes, no wicked plans, it engaged the both of them to nothing, it was just instinctive. It felt good, plain and simple.

She broke away slowly, scouted every detail of his face for his reaction.

It was her first kiss. Her _real_ first kiss. The first she truly wanted, the first time she truly longed to reiterate it.

“Little bird…I'm leaving North, first light tomorrow.”

He may as well had slapped her, it would have felt exactly the same.

_Of course he is leaving_

_Everybody is_

She tried to smile, but he caught the sorrow in her eyes, the falsity in her expression.

Of course he was leaving, they had talked about it in the morning, at their usual gathering. It had been about sixteen days since the first raid went on the recognition mission, and the raven they had taken with them had come back at the break of dawn, but the scroll it was holding was blank. The bird had escaped. They had failed.

Sansa had felt bad, for the children part of the raid, for her sister's friend, the Essosi. But she had urged everyone not to inform Arya. She did not need to know that her lover was probably dead right before her wedding. But they all still needed information about the Night King's progression.

And of course, Sandor had to be part of that second raid. He had seen the army of the dead, fought them already. They needed someone who would come back for sure.

She sighed. A sigh full of despair that explained perfectly how powerless and lonely she felt.

 

*

 

He was thinking about her, the little bird, during the journey. They had been riding for hours now. He thought about that kiss, about the way he did not dare to move, too afraid to break her.

 

_Oh, trustful child_ , he thought, the feeling of her precious lips against his lingering in his mind.

How crazy it was, how crazy was she to grant the scum that he was a kiss? It was like a second of heaven, a chastisement, a glimpse of everything he would never have, a punishment from the God, to make him regret all these years of cynicism and cruelty.

 

But there was one thing he feared more than anything. He was growing attached. She was not just a girl like he was used to having, like those whores he fucked in taverns and who were gone the next morning. She was far too precious for him, far too delicate, he would never be able to give her what she wanted. She was the little bird, fragile yet fierce and brave. He did not know what that kiss meant, but she would never love him.

 

_How could she?_

 

She was perfection, and he, a heap of brutality and disorder and burnt flesh. He was doing the best that he could in order to be honest with her, the only valuable thing in his rotten being.

 

The air was cold, hard to breathe in, but he was lost in his own thoughts.

He loved her. The statement came up in his head out of nowhere, but he did not deny it.

At first he thought it was a father-daughter like love, despite not being old enough to be her father, but then he opened his eyes. There was nothing he would not do for her, there was nothing he would not do to protect her, even if that meant fighting a thousand white walkers, even if that meant leaving her forever, he could not deny the way he was feeling when she was around. Protective, proud, and he felt like crushing the skulls of every man whose eyes lingered on her for too long. Her eyes would never linger on him, she was unreachable for him, and why in the seven hells would she love a pile of scum like him when all of those honorable lords and pretty knight cunts are fighting for her attention?

 

He could never tell her that. He was a coward. Truth was, he was too afraid that she would want him to leave.

 

_I could be her Ser Jorah_

 

The love the old Bear Knight had for his queen was far from hidden, desperately far, even. He was always there, always watching over her, surveying her every move in far too much delight, always threatening the King in the North with his little desperate eyes. She would never love him, he was far too devoted to her, he had no pride and no honor when it came to her, he was not brave enough to contradict her. Would Sandor give up his pride for the little bird, shall she grant him her attention in exchange?

 

_What pride?_

_I'm no man of honor_

_Honesty and advice, these, I will give her, even if she hates me for it_

 

_I'm just a soldier, I can shield her with both my sword and my words_

_But sing her verses all day long?_

_Nay, even if she asked_

_I'm not the Knight in shining armor from the damned lying songs she deserves_

 

_Or maybe I could try, just once, if she would give me one of these little pecks in exchange again_

 

_Ah, there no time for that shit_

 

He did not want to think about it. It was true, there was no time now for a one-sided love. In the middle of a war, when _life_ itself for every person in Westeros was in a precarious state, there was no time to suddenly become one of those Knights from the songs with fluttery feelings. The King in the North and the dragon Queen had chosen the wrong moment to fall in love, and so did any moron who let the fluttery feeling take over. And there were loads of them, highborns and lowborns alike. The closer the army of the dead got, the more people would mate, the more little ones were born. It was an observation. Like the refrain of a song each time a war foreshadowed, only then would people understand how short life truly is, and how they must relish and embrace every feeling for death is near.

 

He was one of them. This trip North was yet another desperate attempt to get her out of his mind, there was no time to fall in love and spend his days daydreaming. He needed to protect her right now, and her family, and Westeros. He knew this attempt would not work however. Wherever he would go, there would always be her delicate face with that awfully unsure look that did not suit her to haunt him. Assurance and pride suited her way better, it made her look divine, even, like those blue roses. So hard to get yet so enchanting and untouchable. Crafted by the Gods, the mortals tried, they hurt her but could not break her, the essence of life and purity.

 

He thought about the young she-wolf too. The journey was long, and he hated chatting with the other soldiers, he had time to get lost in his own thoughts. Winterfell was far already, and in front of them was only the blizzard and the infinite expanse of snow, stretching and blurring with the horizon.

 

She would marry the young bastard very soon. Of all people he ever met, she was the last one he thought would marry. Even when he arrived for the first time at Winterfell, as the King's dog, the first time his gaze met the young and wild spirit, he thought her father would have a hard time settling her with someone strong enough to tame her. It was not a rumor that she looked like a boy in her youth, and she was quite the annoying child, always looking for a fight and insulting people taller tan her. But she had changed a lot since their time as traveling companions. He was not sure where she had been all these years, but he could not believe his eyes when he saw her face when they were at White Harber. She looked nothing like her sister, but she had this strong and somewhat charming and somehow dangerous look on her face. She looked like a woman now, and her fighting abilities were beyond anything he thought a woman of her size could achieve. True, she fought swiftly and with 'style', like those Knight cunts call it, she did not stand a chance against someone like him who fought brutally and messily, but considering her height, it was quite impressive.

 

A boy like her future husband would try to control her, make her his, but she would never obey. There was a second during which Sandor almost pitied the young King in the South.

 

_That boy's gonna have a hard time with her for sure_

_It'll be a wonder if he's not gone mad or if he's still in one piece in a year_

 

But still, he could not truly pity him. He had been the dork asking her in marriage, perfectly knowing that she would accept anything in order to give her brother an army.

 

_What kind of dumbass would force an outrageous and vengeful killer to marry them?!_

_Surely that boy has lost his mind already_

 

The hours became days, weeks. Everyone was concentrating on not freezing, moving their extremities from time to time to make sure they could still feel them. The cold was unbearable, burning and stinging. It was a good thing, in a way, that they had to travel for so long, it meant the army of the dead was still far. Every minute that passed, every step they made with no horde of walking corpses rushing towards them was a victory.

 

But eventually, the first whites appeared. They walked slowly, weakened and disoriented by their surroundings, but as they saw the five men made out of warm flesh and bones, they started running.

 

_One, two, three_

 

The head of the trail.

 

_Eleven, twelve_

_Manageable_

 

Luckily, there was no more, the others seemed to be far behind. They surely would have all perished otherwise.

 

The Hound gave the order to write on the scroll and send the raven back to Winterfell immediately.

The soldier tried to write properly, but his hands were shaking and his no longer gloved fingers numb and calloused. There was the sound of wings flapping, the bird first struggled against the cold wind.

 

The horses were nervous. They too, could feel death floating around them, they too could feel the blue gaze upon them and sense the raising panic.

 

“Get yourself together! We're five and there no more than a dozen. Take your dragonglass and try not to get the horses killed or you'll be walking back to Winterfell!”, he said, unsheathing his sword, that had been coated in Valyrian steel.

 

Fright was growing on the young lads faces.

 

“You cunts better not flee or I swear I'll hunt you down and make myself a fine coat out of y'all!”, he threatened.

 

He kicked his horse with his heeled boots, urged him to gallop forward. The colt was reluctant at first, as were the others, the sound of their growly neighs raised the tension and the feeling of panic.

 

“Go!”, he yelled once.

 

The horses rushed, and the first whites were cut down like corn.

 

Three of them gathered to try to kill Sandor's mount, and the beast got frightened and threw the man off it's back. His face met the hard ground covered in snow and frost. He got up as quick as he could, but not quick enough to dodge a strike in his back. He felt the blade plunge through the many layers of coat and furs he was wearing, felt it rip his flesh off. He hissed in pain, and felt the energy rush through him and decimated the two demons around him in two quick and brutal moves.

 

He fell to his knees, felt the warm blood stick to his skin, saw the copper on the ground blend with dirt and snow.

 

Not his blood, one of the young lad's. There were no walking corpses anymore, only the dead body of a boy laying on his flank a few paces from them and the sound of the howling wind, filling their nostrils with the scent of death.

 

“L-Lord Clegane…”, another lad said in a shaky voice.

 

As he turned his attention to the young man, his gaze met them. All of them.

 

_Oh-seven hells_

 

His heart suddenly started plundering in his chest again.

 

_Decision. Quick. Before they see us._

 

He dragged the lifeless body to him, painfully managed to stand up and mounted the horse before it could run away, pulled the corpse on the mount with him; they will burn the body, one less undead to defeat.

 

“Hurry!”

 

But it was too late. They all heard the soundless screams of the running demons, rushing towards them.

 

“Faster you cunts! This is not the day we die!”, he shouted, his voice getting lost in the air.

 

_We must not show them the road to Winterfell_

 

The horses were not galloping, they were flying, floating above the thick cloak of snow that dressed the endless fields of the North. They headed towards a forest, and the sound of a running horde of living corpses got far. He eventually looked back, and saw that they had lost sight of them. He let out a long sigh of release as he pulled the reins and straightened his back, urged the horse the slow down. He counted his men.

 

_Two, three_

 

They were all here except for the dead one he had on his lap.

 

“We're not dying today…”, he told himself again, the picture of a little bird in his head, the feeling of her soft lips against his rough mouth.

 

But the feeling faded as the smell of smoke filled the air around them.

 

“A fire m'lord.”, a boy voiced out, shivering and his eyes still full of shock from what he had just seen and outlived.

 

_What the hell is anyone doing this far North?!_

 

He saw a little frame holding a remain of sword exit a heap of branches and moss covered in snow that certainly served as a hut. The boy looked frightened at first, probably thought some blue eyed demons had made their way to his shelter, but waved at the group and threw his weapon away when he realized the men were made up of bones and blood just like him.

 

The little man was quite small and chubby, his hair was dark and he looked young. He was no more than ten and three. Something in his face seemed familiar, and as Sandor approached and as the boy's features became easier to see, the man realized he knew this face from Winterfell.

 

“Maik!”, Sandor heard one of his men hiss.

 

*

 

_**King's Landing, two weeks later** _

 

The streets were quiet, the sky gray and the cold was soft, unlike the bitter wind of the North that bites your cheeks and jolts life through your whole frame, reminding you that you are alive.

 

Here the weather was dull, as was the light, the sound of the swarming city during the day, the colors of the boring houses. Last time she was here, she was a child of ten and one, wandering through the alleys with mud on her face chasing cats. But now the streets seemed dead, there were no cats to chase, no crowd to sneak in. She could not pass as an orphan boy from Flea Bottom anymore. She had always had the 'northern look', but now she donned the traits of a woman, so she preferred to cover her face underneath a hood, and dress up as a commoner when she flew the Red Keep for a few hours.

 

She needed those escapes, seclude herself from all of those handmaidens who spent their entire day planning the ceremony, cooking or decorating every single wall of the castle with dried flowers and golden ribbons. And even though she loved Jon, she sometimes needed to be away from that pity gaze he always gave her. She needed to flee, even for a short amount of time, just so that she would not forget who she was.

 

She had been in King's Landing for what had been maybe a moon now, she had stopped counting the days, the southern soldiers left as soon as her feet hit the ground of the city. She had enjoyed traveling on a dragon a lot, she had loved how the world seemed far from the sky, how all the problems were kept on the ground. Just like those little escapes, flying had felt like freedom, pure freedom, and even if it had only lasted a little less than a day, she had spent every second staring at the small fields, the tiny villages growing into large cities the closer they got from the capital. But when the dragon first took off, she was not able to restrain herself from glancing the other way, North. She had hoped, hells- she even had prayed to get just even a glimpse of Jaqen, a tiny speck to nourish the hope that they would meet again someday, but the Gods were not merciful that day. And it had felt like the wind had sliced her throat open.

 

And when Winterfell grew out of her sight, she could not help but feel her heart weep, like something had been ripped away from her. At this moment, Jon had held her tight, and she had closed her eyes to keep the tears from falling, she knew he would not let go of her, he never would, just like Sansa and Bran whom she had said farewell mere minutes before. She would always hold onto this picture of them, standing on the ramparts of their home, a sad expression on their faces.

 

She looked at the sky, already dark. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the cold air of winter in, the air that smelled of the city, that smell she hated of a fruit rotten from the inside.

 

_Last evening_

 

She needed to go back, or else someone would send guards to go look for her. She made her way back into the castle disguised as a servant girl. She had taken some faces with her, _just in case_ she had thought, and this one was quite pretty, therefore it had been easy to get back in the castle the first time. A wink, a smile, and the guards were fooled, they would let anyone with doe eyes and full breasts in. And they knew her face now, so she could get in and out quite easily. She removed the mask as she climbed the walls of the Maidenvault, where her apartments were, until she would move to Maegor's Holdfast, next to the King's room, in the Queen's apartments.

 

_Queen_

 

_Tomorrow, I would be Queen_ , she thought as she slipped out of her commoner's clothes, put on a robe she pulled out at random from her closet.

 

There was a knock on the door, delicate and unsure.

 

“Come in.”, she outed in a tired voice, trying to figure out how to tie the ridiculously intricate pattern of her gray dress.

 

“Lady Arya, we come for the fitting.”, a girl with an annoyingly high and trembling voice stated.

 

A horde came in.

 

“I don't need an army to try on pieces of fabric.”, she spat out.

 

“Oh- well, hum, I'm here for the fitting, b-but Nyla will sew up the embroidery, and Ireyne will take care of your nails while Jaena and Elize here will prepare your bath and everything needed for Bellin to wash and brush your hair-”

 

Everything she said afterward got lost as everything got befuddled in Arya's head.

 

_Seven Hells_

 

“Get over with it.”, she cut the girl's mumbling.

 

Suddenly, the swift little hands were everywhere, tying her hair up, wrapping her in all sorts of fabric, settling a huge mirror in front of her for her to see what a mess she had become.

After what felt like an eternity of pulling and dragging and pinning and spinning, she looked out the window again at the dark sky, at the ridiculously little snowflakes falling from the southern sky. She could not breathe, the corset was too tight, the heavy fabric was squeezing her flesh, the smell of roses and vapor that floated in the room due to the batch that looked burning hot was stifling her, and she felt like she was about to pass out.

 

“Open the window.”, she urged.

 

“Lady Arya, it's snowi-”

 

“Open the damn window!”, she yelled with what was left of air in her trapped frame.

 

There was a rush of cold as the refreshing breeze engulfed itself in the room, and she took in all the air that she could. She was half naked, and the bristles of coldness on her skin felt like life itself was writhing back in her.

 

“Now, which one do you like better, my lady?”, the annoying one who was supervising everything spoke again.

 

“What?”

 

“The patterns, there's the golden one with the roses”, she started, wiggling some fabric.

“Or the ocher one with daphnes, or this beautiful shiny yellow silk with embroidered lilys.”, she continued, emphasizing the flower names as if the Queen to be was some kind of illiterate savage who had never heard of plants.

 

“I don't care, there all the same, just pick one.”, she answered rolling her eyes again.

 

“My lady, it is important that you choose the fabric that suits you the best-”

 

“You know what would _suit_ me?! Riding pants and a leather coat, but I don't have a choice! So pick one of these darn fabrics and get your fucking ass out of this place!”, she yelled at the petrified girl, and the stupid giggles that filled up the room seconds ago died suddenly. She heard the girl mumble some excuse and watched her bow her head and finally walk out mortified.

 

“Get out. All of you. I can bathe alone.”

 

A few of them left without a word, without a glance at the impetuous and furious woman.

But two of them dared to stay after briefly looking at each other.

 

“Hum-, m-m'lady, there's…there's one more thing, uhm…”

 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, but could not restrain a scoff. She was so little and powerless, yet the tiny storm that she was frightened the life out of them.

 

“Go on.”, she asked joking.

 

_It cannot be any worse than a corset_

 

They looked at each other again, and one of them pullet out a blade. Arya's first reflex was to grasp Needle's hilt, but the sword was concealed under her bed and not at her hip. She did not rush to take her weapons though, for the blade was really small and it could not do much harm.

 

“Your grace, tomorrow you will have the chance to have his majesty all for yourself, he will be yours and you will be his…”

 

_That's the concept of marriage you stupid cunt,_ she thought as she frowned, confused.

 

“But in order to please him, my Queen, you must first shave… The King prefers-”

 

The air died in her lungs, and her face went pale for a fraction of a second as disbelief invaded her features. The calm before the storm, before her cheeks shone bright with red anger and she felt her blood boil up. It took all of her strength to not rip the girls eyes of. She closed her eyes and took a sharp, deep breath in, and the act terrified the girls even more.

 

_Oh-_

_He can go fuck himself_ , she thought, her nerves on the verge of rupture.

 

“Is that what he told you when he fucked you?”, she uttered in pure spite.

 

_Do I look like a whore whose only purpose is to please him like the rest of you?_ , was her real question.

 

It was evident that Gendry had screwed all of them already. To them he was some kind of Lord savior, a young and charming King, it was no wonder that all those saps had fallen for his blue eyes and jet black bristles of beard. But she was not one of them, to her, he only inspired pure hatred, and all these stupid handmaidens talked about all day long was how lucky she was to be wed to a such wonderful man, and at every single one of their damnable words it felt like the knife was turning in the open wound of her heart.

The fools blushed and lowered their heads.

 

“My lady should not assume such-”

 

“Out.”, she said, closing her eyes, scarcely controlling the bursting rage.

 

“I will leave the razor here so you can do it on your own, your g-”

 

“I said, **out**!”, she shouted, letting the fury blow up. With one strong and swift move, the shaver and the bowl the poor girl was stretching towards her flew out the window, and tears of anger threatened to fall from Arya's tired eyes.

 

The sudden act dazed the girls, and they ran out of the room, leaving the young assassin with her raging storm of emotions. She was almost out of breath, the corset that the dumb lassies had so tightly tied up constricted the air in her lungs, and she cursed at her trembling hands for she did not achieve to remove the damned thing after long seconds.

 

“You're not going to make a lot of friends in the castle, I fear.”, a low, manly voice outed.

 

She quickly turned her head to Jon, who was on the doorstep, slightly shaking his head in increduity and a hint of amusement and pity. All these years, and she had not fully tamed her anger. It was a good thing, he thought, for she had remained somewhat the same. This was who Arya Stark was, who she had always been, passionate, raw, and never fully in control or understanding what was going on with the emotions that she still embraced.

 

“Help me out of this thing.”, she voiced out happy to see him, her cheeks still red from anger, a bit ashamed that he had witnessed her tantrum.

 

He unlaced the corset, turned his back the time that she slipped into her usual man's clothes, a leathery coat and tight pants, that were still a bit too large for her muscly, skinny legs.

 

“You told me you wanted to sneak in the maester's laboratory?”, he asked.

 

“Yes, I need something.”, she said not meeting his eyes, for she did not really want to have the same conversation she had with her sister with him.

 

He caught her arm when she passed by him, looked at her raising his brows, as if warning her.

 

“It's not for Gendry, don't worry, I won't poison him. It's for me.”

 

He nodded, let go of her arm, followed her through the door.

 

“You're not sick? Because if you are, there's no need to sneak into the maester's chambers, you may as well tell him what you have and he'll-”

 

“I'm not sick, I just need some things. Now, either you stop questioning my intents, or I go without you.”, she said, looking at him expectantly.

 

“Alright.”, he scoffed, shaking his head again at her stubbornness.

 

They got out of the Maiden vault, entered the Godswood as if they were about to pray, and got out from the backdoor, right next to the Rookery, where the maester's chambers had been rebuilt since the Iron born's attack, three moons from now.

 

“You're sure he's not here?”, she asked as they concealed themselves on the side of the tower, safe from curious gazes.

 

“They are all in the small Hall, at the council meeting I skipped to come _pray_ with you, so yes, I am sure.”

 

She smiled as she pulled out two metal twigs out of her sleeve, and forced the door open. This room was perhaps the only place in the whole city that was not suffocating under dried flowers and heavy golden draperies with embroidered stags.

The room was dark and it smelled of burnt concoctions and old parchment. It was partly clean, but the whole left part of the chamber was utter chaos, vials and books and torn scribbled papers, schemes and toxic herbs and even organs in glass jars, stored in huge wooden cases labeled as “ _Qyburn, studies_ ” or “ _Qyburn, experiments_ ”.

Arya started to look around the messy spot, cared about not to let anything fall to the ground.

 

“What are we looking for?”, Jon asked in a low voice, surveying out the window.

 

“Powdered tansy. I couldn't craft it myself, I don't have the filters to remove the toxicity. It's yellow and as fine as sand.”, she answered, her hand hovering over the different jars and vials that sported all sorts of bright colors and complicate names, and she felt proud for she knew the effects of most of these powders, and the face of the Waif flashed in her head.

 

She had absolutely no intention of giving Gendry children, she had never thought about having any, she would not make an exception for a bastard who thought he owned her, no matter if the bastard in question was her husband, he had no right to take that decision for her. She had even reflected, for hours, days, about ways to escape the marriage bed, but on that point, she seemed to be doomed, and a cold shiver made her tremble in aversion at the thought of his filthy hands and obscene glare.

 

At the name of the flower, Jon flinched as he recalled hearing that term already. Beyond the wall, when he was living with the Wildlings.

 

_' “You got some more of that tansy tea?”, a woman had asked the old witch._

“ _Ha! Ye don' like babes?”_

“ _Nay, I got no time for babes!”'_

 

“You're pregnant…”, he stated frowning, as a shudder made his whole tremble.

 

He was divided in both disgust and confusion. That was a thought he had never had before, Arya being pregnant, and it felt odd, so very odd to imagine her belly full and round, and even more odd to imagine her…with a man, and the images he could not help from involuntarily making up in his head made his nose wrinkle up.

 

“Not yet. The wedding is tomorrow, Jon.”, she answered.

 

'The redhead?”, he asked, shrugging his shoulders.

 

At the mention of the Lorathi, Arya felt a knife pierce through her heart. She felt hot tears well up in her eyes, closed her lids to prevent them from falling. She never thought about him during the day. When even a mere _shadow_ of a thought of something that might remind him popped up in her head, she would brush it away as quickly as possible.

 

At night, underneath the heavy blankets, where no one could see her nor hear her, that was the time she had reserved herself to cry for her beloved. And she did, every night since that dreadful afternoon, she allowed the weigh of sorrow in her throat to stifle her, rob her of dire air, and she would silently pray that it strangled her enough so she be carried away from this world. The sobs stole her sleep until she could not hold her reddened and swollen eyes that had wept too much open anymore, until she fell into slumber out of pure exhaustion, not reciting her list because it did not make anymore sense, she could not kill who she wanted anymore. And every morning she woke up, the dry salt still clinging to her face, a buzzing sound in her head, and she would concentrate all day long on being brave enough to hold the tears that were only allowed to flow when she had returned to her place of safety.

 

“No.”, she answered, cursed because she heard her own voice tremble.

“No, we didn't.”, she finished, chasing the thought of him away from her tortured mind.

 

Jon felt the claws let go of his guts, he was released to hear that she was not bearing anyone's child. Yet. And that ' _yet_ ' broke his heart because he knew that someday she would, and for someone she did not love, all because he had not found any other solution than _sell_ her to that crowned and cocky bastard.

 

“There!”, she hissed, fully and falsely composed again, holding a jar of ' _Tanacetum vulgare pulveris'_

 

But something caught both of their attention, a flicker of silver that reflected the dim light. They leaned over the chest from which she had pulled out her precious ingredient. It was silver and blue, concealed underneath various clutter items. Arya handed her jar over to Jon, started to ruffle inside the coffer, until most of the junk was displayed on the ground. She removed the cloth that was wrapped around the silver that had caught their attention, her mouth fell open and her eyes gleamed in wonder as she lifted the heavy thing.

 

“A dragon egg…”, Jon mumbled in the same state of amazement.

 

It was truly a beautiful object, with perfect scales carved into what looked like stone, it's silver and blue hue shining like a frozen mirror. Arya could not help but run a long and delicate finger on the precious object, tracing the perfectly carved indents.

 

“Why would a maester hide an object of such value?”, she asked, though she was not expecting any answer.

 

Jon looked over the wooden chest again, pulled out a scroll that had been placed near the egg.

 

“The new Grand maester did certainly not dig into all of these.”, he said, waving at the heaped and messy boxes that had been stored here for they were the only things that had been saved from the flames.

“Qyburn was the one who served Cersei-”, he stopped to pay more attention to the piece of parchment he was reading. His lips moved yet no words were spoken.

 

He crushed the paper, and Arya was waiting for explanations.

 

“This egg belonged to Euron Greyjoy, he wanted to offer it to Cersei so he could participate in the purchase of the mercenaries…he scratched his idea when Cersei attacked the Tyrells and got all of their gold.”, he outed in a hushed voice.

 

“Who is he writing that to?”, Arya asked frowning.

 

“The Faceless Men of Braavos.”

 

A second slice through her heart.

 

_Twice in a row._

 

She concentrated on what her brother had to say next to not linger on the image of Jaqen that had popped in her head, the image of him when she held Needle against his heart in the Hall of Fac-

 

“He wrote that he wanted Daenerys Targaryen to be named for the Death God…maybe the answer of the Faceless Men is in there-”, she caught his arm before he had a chance to plunge it again in the wooden chest.

 

“No need. They probably sent him his fossil back with a scroll that said that one egg is not enough. It is of great value, but she is a Queen, her life is worth at least twenty of those.”

 

Jon nodded, but he felt a weird stir in his chest at the idea of his little sister being part of that guild of assassins.

 

“It's beautiful…”, she whispered, and he agreed.

“You should give it to her, maybe she could hatch it.”, she said, stretching her arms for him to hold the heavy egg.

 

“I would gladly offer it to her, but…”, he answered smiling.

“The birth of her dragons…it was a miracle, the secret to hatching dragons has been lost since centuries, even she doesn't know how it happened. She told me once about that night, when she stepped into the Khal's pyre. A Khal is the leader of the Dothraki, he's like their K-”

 

“I know what a Khal is, Jon. I spent more time across the Narrow Sea than you did.”, she cut him teasingly.

 

“Right.”, he recalled chortling.

“There was the body of her husband, some witch that she had sentenced to die, and her, and by some kind of magic, the fire did not achieve to burn her, she rose from the embers the next morning, and the day came along with the melody of singing dragons for the first time in hundreds of years… and she was Daenerys Targaryen, the mother of dragons.”

 

Jon's eyes were sparkling, and Arya knew he was seeing the scene in his mind. He looked like a foolish boy, with that idiotic smile on his lips and those dreamy eyes. Actually, he reminded her of _Sansa_. But who could blame him?

 

And the face of her Lorathi flashed again in her mind.

 

“Let's go.”, she outed coldly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> As you may have noticed, the chapters are a little less joyful these times, I hope you enjoy reading it anyway :)  
> Since there is not much Jaqarya, I'm writing some Sansan to cope with the lack of smutty mushystuff, I hope you don't mind, let me know if you go down for this ship too, and if you'd like to read about other couples ;)  
> Thank you so much for reading and for all the sweet comments, let me know if you have any suspicions or theories about what is going to happen next, I'm very curious to see what you think :)  
> Have a nice week-end! <3
> 
> Artist: @emmney.art


	19. The King's Doe

The air was still. Too still and heavy and hard to breathe in. His head was bowed, he looked at the stone tiles, he was on his knees again. Her look was severe, it contrasted with her soft womanly features, with the beauty of her heart-shaped face. He was terrified, terrified of what she would do, think of him.

 

“Talk. You are the one who asked for an audience.”, she said, he voice clear and steady, her tone cold and authoritarian, he expected no less.

 

He raised his chin the slightest bit, looked at her, at the gorgeous roundness of her belly, and the petrifying frigidness in her eyes of cold purple. They had not talked since his arrival, a few weeks ago, he had judged best not to, he had wanted to erase himself. But of course he could not, and they could not continue ignoring each other. He knew that things would never be like before again, he would never dare to suggest being her adviser again after his treason.

 

But he could still help them with something, he had to. He was no great fighter, his only assets being his rhetoric and his diplomacy. But he could help them, he just had to prove his worth again. Again and again and again, for he did not truly realize yet how lucky he was to be alive. He would kiss her feet day and night should she order him to, or keep his mouth shut and follow her like a mere dog, should she wish to. But he needed her to need him.

 

“Her majesty asked you a question.”, Missandei insisted, her voice as cold as Daenerys', but not as frightening.

 

“You grace, I-… There are no words, to express my gratitude-”

 

“Is that why you came? To thank me for your worthless life?”, she outed frowning, and if ever a stare could have killed someone, this may have been the day Tyrion would have succumbed.

 

“No, your grace, I come here to explain to you what pushed me to lie to Cersei-”

 

“I know what your motives where. You thought this was the best way to convince her, you promised her a dynasty of Lions. But you did not lie to her, you lied to me. Are you looking for trouble by bringing this up again, Tyrion Lannister?”

 

Every syllable she outed was impregnated in pure spite, every word was like a dagger piercing through his throat, a flame burning his heart.

 

“Your grace, I would never have-”

 

“We don't know what you could or could not have done. This is past now. But do not expect me to forgive you, nor to regain my trust or your former position.”, she said, and the Imp was quite sure that he saw the gleam of tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

 

She put her hands on her round belly, the little dragon in there was probably whispering her to kill him for he was just a little piece of scum. She rubbed him in soothing motions. There were only a few weeks left until another Targaryen would breathe the air of this world for the first time.

 

“You have proven your value by killing her. But we are now facing another problem. Tell me, Tyrion Lannister, had you not betrayed me and had the recent turns of events not shattered my reliance on you, what would you advise me to do with the new King in the South?”

 

There it was, her query for advice. Although she might deny it, this question meant a lot for Tyrion, it meant all hopes of someday restoring her trust in him might not be completely lost.

 

“Well, this foolish boy certainly does not fear to wake the dragon.”, he attempted to jape, saw a shadow a smile form on her face as her angry expression eased a bit.

 

“He is a lot like his father actually, way too brave to be smart. He thought about the immediate consequences of taking the throne for himself but not at all about what would happen next.”

 

“And what should I do next?”, she queried.

 

“Let him think he is safe for now, your grace, let him think that you are seeing passed this affront. Let his plan of marrying Lady Arya to secure a pact with the North work. When the time is right and we have gathered enough men again when the war against the dead is won, hit at the right moment, when the city is at it's lowest, and show him what a dragon is capable of.”

 

“Dragons. What dragons are capable of.”, she corrected him.

 

“I was speaking about you, your grace.”, he said smiling, bowing his head.

 

_Still_

_There will be three of us soon_

 

“People of the South seem to like him. They will see me as the enemy.”

 

“They have no idea what a true Queen nor a true King is, your majesty. Some of them knew your father, the Mad King, who wore his name just fine. Most of them knew the South under Robert Baratheon's reign, who never wished to be King, and after his demise came the time of terror under Joffrey's and Cersei's reign. They have never known what a good leader is.

 

This boy might be appreciated for now, but he inspires no respect, he knows nothing about politics and grandeur. He might have King's blood, but everyone including him will realize soon enough that blood and titles don't do all of the job.

 

Let power overflow him, let the South crumble in his hands, and then come in the game. No need for another war, people will not want to fight anymore after the war against the Others. Hit from inside, just like you did with Meereen, let the people open the gates of the city for you. No foreign army attacking the city, no dragons, only the rightful heir taking the throne.”, he outed confidently.

 

“And what about our alliance with the North? Arya Stark will soon be Queen and rule over King's Landing, this will be betrayal in the eyes of northern man.”

 

“You grace…”, he answered, smiling.

“I am not worried for the Lady Arya, she is fierce and wild, and she is on your side. And you are bearing a child, a child whose father is the King in the North. In the eyes of everyone, you are on the Northerner's side, as they are on yours. The Northerners are proud, they will defend your claim on the throne body and soul should you grant them their freedom and…an heir to the throne who is both Ice and Fire.”

 

And at this statement, Daenerys smiled.

 

*

 

There was the sound of a knock on the door. Very gentle, and Gilly inwardly thanked whoever was knocking for they had not woken up little Sam.

She laid the book she was reading on the table, then swiftly made her way to the door, opened it delicately in order for the wood not to crack and prevent any noise. Her face lit up at the sight.

 

“Sam!”, she whispered joyfully.

 

“Is he asleep?”, he asked, a large smile on his face.

 

She nodded. It had been over two moons since he had left for Horn Hill to gather the remaining men still loyal to his house. In the meantime, she had helped prepare the quicklime substance for the wall of fire, just like he had showed her. She knew the recipe by heart now, just like the stories of Westeros she liked to recount to their son before tucking him.

 

But recently she had studied other books. Books about wealth and noble families of Westeros, she had asked maester Walkon if he had any book that registered everything, from a family's lands to its number of children in the past twenty years. What she was looking for was who Samwell might marry shall he decide to unite with another House to restore his own Houses's lost grandeur. And despite the fact that this idea was making her incredibly sorrowful, she could not help but think that it would make perfect sense and that she would not be able to hate him should he leave her for another.

 

“Come, there's something I'd like to show you…”, he said, dragging her out of the room, keeping her hand in his as they traveled through the corridors of the Guest House, in which they had been living with the others since their arrival at Winterfell, already nine moons ago.

 

He took her all the way to the Library, they remained on the balcony. At the sight of her goosebumps and trembling lips, he quickly removed his cloak and wrapped it around the girl's skinny shoulders.

 

“Now, look up.”, he said, a proud smile on his lips.

 

The sun had set since a few hours already. She raised her chin and looked at the sky, and her mouth fell open in pure awe and wonderment. In the firmament as dark as ink were a thousand blinking stars, but the show of glimmering lights was totally stolen by what looked like dancing ribbons of a colorful green hue. The spectacle was magical, it was like the whole sky was alight, whirling above their heads.

 

“Woah…How?”, she managed to ask in a breath, shaking her head in amazement.

 

It looked like magic, like the old Gods had decided to waltz through the sky for the night, wearing their God's garments made of light and sparkles.

 

“We do not know how… It is a rare phenomenon, once every eleven years, it is once of those magnificent surprises the glorious nature has for us.”, he outed in the same amazement.

 

They stared at the celestial dance, his arm around her, holding her tight.

 

“Gilly…”, he spoke, his voice unsure.

 

“Jon suspended me from my duties towards the Night's Watch, I am a Lord now, the heir to my House…”

 

 _Please, do not ruin this moment…_ , she thought as she closed her eyes, her lungs being robbed of dire air.

 

“Therefore, I am allowed to take a wife, in order to further my dynasty-”

 

 _Sam, I beg you…_ , she shut her eyes tighter, she did not want to hear it, she felt the claws of sorrow tightening around her throat already.

 

“So…when the war against the dead is over, when everything is settled…would you accept to be my spouse?”

 

Her eyes opened suddenly, she felt a gush of wind release her lungs. Then she wondered if she heard right.

 

_Maybe it was just the hurling winter breeze, toying with my feelings?_

 

“Me?”, she whispered, looking at him, praying for it to be true, and not the fruit of her imagination.

 

“Well…yes… But, I-I'm in now way forcing this upon you, y-you shall give an answer that suits you, if-if you want time to think, or-or if you don't want to…”, he mumbled, his heart on the verge of bursting.

 

“Sam!”, she cut his muttering.

 

“I do!”, she said, her smile wide, and tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

 

It took the both of them a few seconds to realize. He lifted her suddenly and whirled with her in his arms, as in caught in a joyous and maddening swirl of dreams and laughs, and their giggling voices were like a sweet melody, which accorded itself perfectly with the beauty of the twirling bands of light.

 

*

“M'lady…M'lady…”

 

She felt a light squeeze on her shoulder, and heard the unsure voice of that young, light haired handmaid. Sansa went to bed early this evening, despite the show of lights that was happening in the sky.

 

The last time she had experienced it, she was a little girl of eight. All her family had gathered in the Godswood, she remembered the round belly of her mother, the shelter of little Rickon, who was sitting right next to her, although they did not know yet if the newest addition to the family would be a little Rickon or a little Ellena. She remembered how her father was cradling Bran, tickling his cheeks in order for him to not fall asleep in his arms. She remembered how Robb, Theon and Jon were delighted to be allowed to run outside so late in the night, how Arya was upset for not being quick enough to follow them through the trees.

 

She did not want to experience it again. There would be no one to stand next to her had she willed to watch the green lights, and she did not have the strength to stand there on her own. Moreover, her sister was getting married in a few days, she was thinking about her a lot, about the way she must be feeling, so the redhead's mood was perhaps at its lowest.

 

“Lady Sansa…it's the Knight Lord milady, he's in the one of the rooms of the armory… I said we should not wake you up but then he insisted and even threatened-”, she spoke hesitantly, twisting her fingers and fearing already whatever she expected Sansa Stark to say about being woken up in the middle of the night.

 

“What? Which ' _Knight Lord_ '?”, she said, her voice growly and unwarmed, arranging her hair, adjusting her nightwear around her shoulders, tightening the muscles of her back to give herself more composure even after having been pulled out of a deep sleep mere seconds ago.

 

“The…the big one, milady…-the one with a burnt scar on his f-”

 

She did not let the poor girl finish. She sprung out of her bed, surprising the young maid, and quickly caught the lit candle on the side of her bed. She did not even slip in any other garment that would be considered more proper. She ran through the cold corridors, her bare feet hitting the freezing tiles in a rhythm that almost sounded like music. She was rushing through the Great Keep, her shadow not being quick enough to follow her, crossed the open bridge and let the biting cold air attack her soft skin. Luckily, there was no one else to see her in this state. She would have had trouble explaining herself. She saw light through one of the windows of the rooms above the armory.

 

She hastened her pace, she was not running anymore, she was flying and whimpering, like a little bird whose wings had been spread for the first time.

 

As she approached the door, her gaze met with his impressive stature. His back was towards her. He was bare chested, numerous coats of white linen stripes covering bloodied wounds. He was cowering on a stool that looked tiny underneath the whole heap of sculpted muscles that was him.

She pushed the door, he heard the creak.

 

“I'm sorry I frightened your handmaid.”, he spoke in a slow, tired and hushed voice.

 

The sound of his raw and harsh tone was like a caress soothing her bleeding heart. She approached him, allowed him to see her. His eyes lingered on her nightgown and ruffled hair for a bit, before he quickly turned his head. Sansa even thought she caught the slightest trace of blush on his cheeks, and it made her smile. But her smile faded as her gaze fell on his wounds. The chambermaids had taken care of him, the ones who were not so scared of him, but she could still guess how bad of a state he was in. But he was here. He had come back. And it was all that mattered.

 

“She'll get over it.”, she answered, her voice high pitched, which surprised the both of them.

 

“I'm sorry you had to wake up in the middle of the night. I just…”, he mumbled.

 

Blush was so odd on his face, Sansa could not help but smile. It was the first time she saw him so unsure.

 

“I'll get over it.”, she answered again scoffing.

 

 _Now, will you?_ She asked in her her head, thinking about the nightgown she had not properly readjusted, and that showed a little more skin than what she was used to.

 

But she did not care. His reaction amused her, even. She straightened her back, tried to look like the ruler that she was, even with her tired eyes and the shivers that ran through her due to the bitter cold of the room.

 

“You wanted to see me?”, she said after clearing her voice, her face fully composed.

 

He smiled gently, the burnt flesh on the left side of his face wrinkling, it probably hurt.

 

“Yes.”, he outed, his silver gaze meeting hers. It was alight.

 

For a minute, there was nothing said. Just the sound of the nascent fire, the smell of horses and steel and the fresh whiff of her delicate perfume. She was lost in his eyes, she forgot about everything else, and had he not spoken at this precise moment, she would have drowned in the serenity of the scene. He was safe. She was safe. They were both home. It would not last long, but she would relish it. She would relish each and every drop of this perfect moment.

 

“Is it that bad? That I _just_ wanted to see you?”

 

_Damn it_

 

Sansa never cursed. And in her mind, only very rarely. Those words were forbidden when she was a little girl learning how to be a perfect lady, Septa Mordane had educated her like a proper noblewoman. Using those terms was not the way she had been taught, unlike Arya, who was delighted to swear and enrage the poor and desperate Septa with her wild and wicked tongue. But sometimes, even Sansa slipped. Sometimes, it was just too much. Sometimes, these words were the only appropriate ones.

 

And this was one of those times.

 

How could he make her feel like that? It was impossible for her to restrain her flow of thoughts, the stir in her lower stomach. He was not a fair man, she was aware of that, with that ugly scar and burnt flesh. But it took her some time to constrain the urge of kissing him, kissing those lips who had haunted her every hour of every cursed day he was not here. It had been so, so long since the last time they kissed, she forgot how it felt, how he tasted, despite dreaming day and night about it since his departure.

 

“No…”, she said, laying the candle on a table, walking towards him, flowing through the air.

 

Only when she was a few inches from him she realized she had tried to walk seductively, and his burning gaze on her feminine shape informed her that she had succeeded.

She laid a hand on his smooth cheek, felt the bristles of unshaven beard. His skin felt soft and warm, he had bathed, his hair looked still a bit damp. He closed his eyes, she did as well.

 

“I missed you, Sandor.”, she whispered, her voice the whistle of a little bird.

 

He rose, locked her in an embrace. Gently, delicately, like she was the most precious thing he had ever held in his big and calloused hands. He did not care if his wounds stung, he needed to feel her in his arms. Her hands wrapped around his waist, and he put one arm around her shoulders and a hand on her head, smoothing her silky red hair. He was like a shelter, he was home to her. He planted soft and feathery kisses on her head, he could not help it, he smelled her addictive fragrance of winter flowers.

 

“I missed you more, Sansa.”, he spoke of a voice so soft that it surprised her.

 

And there it was.

Want.

She felt it, the strange wave of thrill, she felt it like she never thought she would ever feel it again. Not since Ramsey.

 

But she quickly brushed the thoughts of Ramsay away, concentrated on what _he_ made her feel.

 

_Love and Want_

 

Like in the songs. She did not care if he was no honorable Knight, she did not care if she was no pure maiden. They did not fit the songs perfectly, but still, the idea was there and it was enough. They were both broken. Broken and in love. Even broken ones get to feel, even stormy lands get hit by the golden rays of the sun sometimes.

 

“Would you do one more thing for me?”, she spoke against his warm chest.

 

She looked up at him, felt her cheeks redden softly.

 

“Kiss me.”

 

His lips were drawn to hers like a magnet, he did not even have the time to wonder if he had been dreaming, and his lips were pressed against hers. Gently, at first, chastely. But then, he could not find the will to let go, neither did she. She kissed him back, deeper, and a loving, passionate dance began. The feeling in her stomach was not fluttering butterflies but a tingle that urged to be released, and she wrapped her hands around his neck to bring him closer, have more of him, because she _craved_ him.

 

His hands wandered around the sleek fabric of her nightgown, he could feel the warm skin of her back through it, he caressed the perfect curve of her waist. Sansa felt like she was suddenly being absorbed in a vortex of feelings. The War did not exist anymore, the walls of Winterfell crumbled down, there were no Kings and Queens, no High or Low borns where she got carried away, just the two of them.

 

The door creaked and the sound of a wooden bucket hitting the stone tiles disturbed their reverie.

 

“Oh, I-I'm s-so sorry, Lady Stark-”, the young girl managed to mumble, her eyes wide from what she had just witnessed.

 

Sandor expected the young Lady of Winterfell to shy away quickly, to act as if nothing happened, but she remained in his arms, her face close to his, which surprised him.

 

The maid's face was a bright red color as she gathered the things that had fell out of her grasp.

 

“I'll-I'll come back on the morrow, m-m'lord.”, she outed in a trembling voice, her eyes on the ground as she made her way towards the entrance.

 

“Close the door.”, Sansa ordered her.

 

He felt the blood rush through him like a sudden explosion, so fast it threatened to burst from his being. She felt the thrill of desire make her whole body slightly tremble.

Her eyes met his face again, they had this proud and strong glimpse he adored in them, and in a flicker of a second, he was ravaging her lips, and she was devouring him. The swirl of fire they had lit up threatened to consume them wholly, but none of them cared.

 

_If we must die_

_Then let me die in your arms_

 

She pushed him to the bed, he sat and their heads were at the same level. His hands moved to her thighs, caressed her sides as hers discovered his broad, muscled shoulders. She let her tongue invade his mouth, and a delightful and electrifying wave shook her for it was the first time she could also pull the reins during such intimacies.

 

She untied the knots of her gown for him, felt his big hand gently caress one bosom, and she flinched at the touch and felt her heart race, because it felt good, and she had never prepared herself for how good it _could_ actually feel.

 

She kissed him lovingly on the lips, he settled her on his laps. Little moans escaped her throat at his absorbing touch, and her hands traced the muscles of his chest, his abs, down to his navel. He was quite lean, but she knew that, it was noticeable even through the various coats of clothing.

 

He caught her waist, shifted, and she laid with her back on the bed, with him hovering over her. He kissed her neck as her hands lost themselves in his ashy hair, kissed until his lips were on her breasts. She could not see his face anymore, and suddenly a wave of cold sweat fell on her as she felt his finger trace a scar close to her hip bone, Ramsay's work. She froze for a second.

 

Her breath accelerated, she shut her eyes, willed herself to think only about him, his scent of steel, his gray eyes filled with fondness looking at her. But all she could see was a too familiar devilish smile, and she could hear his terrifying voice far away, humming _'my sweet wife',_ his groans and laughs, and she could almost feel him _in_ her as sharpened claws planted themselves in her chest, preventing her from breathing.

 

 _No, no, no_ , she pleaded against the nauseating memories, in vain.

 

Ramsay had invaded her mind again.

 

She started to tremble, her freezing fingers left his hair to hide the anguish on her face, but he immediately caught that something was wrong. And before she could even realize it, hot tears were bathing her cheeks. He was a bit lost, he held her while she sobbed, whispered soothing hushes, told her that everything was alright, while she mumbled apologies through her quivering lips.

 

“Don't apologize, my little bird, there, everything is fine.”, he said with the most gentle voice he could.

 

He covered her with the furry blanket, wrapped her in his arms for her body was now as cold as ice.

 

“Sandor, I- forgive me, I can't-I'm broken”, she said, her voice breaking, biting the soft flesh of her finger.

 

She truly feared that he would hate her. Why would he not? She could not give him this simple thing, the thing all the other women could-

 

“Sansa, listen to me.”, he said, with a tiny speck of authority.

“There is _nothing_ to forgive. You are not broken, you are a warrior, my little warrior bird, understood? There is no rush, everything is perfectly alright.”

 

She smiled at his tenderness, as the last tear got lost in the feathery pillow. At at this precise moment, she felt grateful beyond words. He planted a light kiss on her forehead, before nestling her in his embrace.

 

And oh-, how she loved, him she realized.

 

“Sleep serenely now, my little bird, I'm shielding you from nightmares.”, Sandor surprised himself at his own utterance. He felt even more surprised when he wondered in the time of a blink of an eye if he knew any _lullabies_ he could sing to her to gently carry her to that state of slumber.

 

And Sansa never felt as safe as at this precise moment.

 

_The Hound and the Bird_

_What a lovely tale to restore hope in the broken ones_

 

_There was one a little bird trapped in a golden cage_

_The Hound growled loud_

_But she knew that to her he would be presage_

_And when she spread her wings, by no tales she would be beguiled_

 

_The bird flew home and was mocked by his kin_

_The Hound broke his chains and ran, of freedom he was keen_

_Feathers were bloodied_

_Honor was tarnished_

 

_When winter came they met again_

_Both shattered and rebuilt_

_And here the tale resumed_

_Yet this time sparkled a flame_

 

_*_

 

She could not believe her own eyes. The woman she saw had her hair neatly tied and braided in complicated twists, she was wearing a heavy dress with an embroidered corset and long laced sleeves. The embroidery was very detailed, it represented wolves and stags enfolding, trapped in golden swirls and yellow flowers. The tight gown embraced perfectly her skinny hourglass shape. The woman she was staring at in the mirror, bathed in the winter morning light, looked ridiculously prim and perfect and ladylike, it was so, so not Arya Stark. She had wanted to rip the fabric off her as soon as the horde of handmaidens had tied her undergarments. The only thing she wanted to wear was riding pants and a furry mantle, and the only thing she wanted to do was find a horse and get the hell out of this place before anyone could lay eyes on her in this stupid dress, before that bastard could _brand_ her as his.

 

 _A proper little Lady_ , she thought, concentrating hard not to punch the handmaiden who was tying her corset way too tight for her to breathe.

 

“Does this suit you, lady Arya?”, some girl asked, arranging her skirt.

 

_Of course not you moron_

_None of this suits me_

 

She nodded. Truly, she could not care less about her outfit, she just wanted to be done with it all, the wedding, the great war, she wanted to go home.

 

But in a few hours she would be standing in front of a septon reciting some stupid verses, declaring to an assembly of fools that she now was a property to that stupid bastard they had all crowned their King.

 

A handmaiden with blonde hair and brown eyes dabbed some powder around her eyes, to conceal the darkness and the redness. She had not been able to sleep properly since she was here. She would always dream about her Lorathi holding her tight, running his fingers on her cheeks, kissing her forehead, whispering ' _lovely girl_ ' in her ears. She remembered how safe she felt in his arms, how the world suddenly did not exist anymore every time he smirked and looked into her arrogance filled eyes. Everything seemed to be easy when Jaqen was around.

 

But each time she tried to kiss him back in her dreams, his scarlet hued hair would fade away, turning into the color of ash and eventually being replaced by jet black, thin and short strands. And suddenly, she could not escape the embrace anymore, she was trapped in his grip, while his face was transforming into Gendry's, slowly approaching as she was debating, until she felt like sinking and falling into nothingness. She would always wake up horrified. Even in her dreams, she could not escape reality.

 

This blonde handmaiden was her favorite. Arya would always kick all the others out from her quarters after thirty minutes of attempted service, they were all annoying and stupid. This one however would always take a little bit longer than the others to tie her hair or help her get in her clothes, but Arya did not care, she was the only one she allowed to stay because she was quiet.

 

She did not try to gush with her, she did not try to tell her how lucky she was to be married off to _the most handsome man she'd ever seen_ or some shit that had the same din to it. Arya was quite sure that this young handmaiden was one of the few who never shared their bed with Gendry. Not that she cared who this bastard had fucked. She always had this sad expression in her eyes, she seemed lonely and lost. Arya had heard from the others that she was new, that she did not have any friends, but that made her more likeable to Arya. She was also feeling lonely and friendless.

 

She had had time to think about the night that was coming. But she had decided that tonight would not be the night. The little vial with the potion was sitting next to the mirror. She had mixed up a strong soporific thanks to some plants she had stolen from the maester's laboratory, she would only need to place a few drops in his wine for him to fall in a deep, deep sleep and forget about everything happening in between his legs.

 

She needed to be careful about the dose however. She knew she could not kill him. He had no enemy in town and every single person who worked in the castle had been carefully picked, they would find out quickly who was responsible for it and although she could easily disappear by wearing another face or by fleeing the city, everyone would notice her missing and the armies he sent North would retreat and it would all have been for nothing.

 

Gendry was truly loved by the whole darn city, poor and rich, nobles and commoners. He was lucky, she thought. He would have never accessed this damned throne if people were not in great need of a ruler. True, he had acquired some eloquence since his ascension, but he did not possess the true allure of a King, he had no charisma, no pride in his look, no military mind or even cleverness, just arrogance and cockiness, and one could easily see that his _'care for the people'_ was fully faked. But he was tall and muscled, he looked fierce and brave, he was born in this shitty place and he was not a Lannister, and that was enough for a lot of people, although nothing in him charmed her. And they were very few, the ones he did not charm. His most 'loyal' people were the young and aroused ladies, rich or poor.

 

He called himself ' _the voice of the people_ '. But growing up as a bastard in the streets of Flea bottom was the only reason the commoners liked him, and his suggestible nature was the only reason the nobles around him loved being at his side. The bannermen sitting at the small council were the ones truly ruling over this city, and they needed Gendry to make the people believe that every move they did was for their own good. It was a good thing, in a way, Gendry had in no way the required education to properly take care of a Kingdom's problems.

 

 _He won't last long,_ she thought.

_After the Great War, when things come in order again, he will not take the good decisions._

_He will face a Rebellion before the Dragon Queen even show up_

_Either leaded by the people of this very starving city, or by the other Great Houses_

 

She knew him, more than anyone worshiping him in this accursed city. She knew that he had no military mind, he was not wise, he was just a tool for the nobles and an image for the poor to feel represented.

 

No, she could not kill him. But she could poison him to keep him away. She had prepared a concoction thanks to wildflowers, some products found in the burned maester's laboratory, and everything the Waif had taught her. After the ceremony, when they would find themselves alone in the bedroom, she would put a few drops of the purple liquid in his glass of wine, making him fall asleep before he could try anything. _Just_ a few drops. She knew it would be tempting, but pouring more than what was necessary would put him in a sleep he would never wake up from.

 

“There, my lady. The carriage that will drive you to the New Sept will arrive by midday. Would you like something to eat until then?”

 

“No, thank you.”, she answered, still looking into the mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of Arya Stark.

 

She searched through the neatly combed and styled hair, the fancy gown, the make up, the tired and lifeless eyes, the slow moves… but Arya Stark had disappeared.

 

The likable handmaid nodded and departed the room, waved at the others to follow her, in order to give a girl who was not Arya Stark anymore some privacy.

 

“Oh, hum, your grace…”, one of them spoke before walking out.

 

Arya had learned that whenever the maids used this endearment, it was because they had something unpleasant to tell her. Somehow they imagined that reminding her that she was to be the Queen of this filthy bastard would put the wolf girl in a good enough mood to patiently listen to whatever they had to say next.

 

“His majesty insisted that you come see him before you both depart from the Red Keep. He knew you would disagree but he firmly ordered me to insist. He is waiting for you in the throne room.”, she said, twisting her fingers, worried about the future Queen's reaction.

 

_Ugh, what does this damned bastard want now?_

 

She paced angrily out of the Maidenvault, carefully bringing her little vial full of poison with her in case she would not have an occasion to go back to her now former chambers.

 

Guards opened the doors for her, she was out of breath due to the tight corset, and as she entered the throne room, he was there, his fancy little bottom sat on that damnable chair everybody fights for, a wicked boyish grin on his face, apparently very pleased to see that she had obeyed his order.

 

He waved his hand, dismissing anyone else. The room was stifling under heaps of dried flowers and ribbons and heavy tapestries. Since winter had came and it was too cold to celebrate outside, the feast would take place here, hence the heavy decorations.

 

“Come, my wolf!”

 

She clenched her teeth.

 

_Selflessness, Arya Stark_

_A girl has trained for this before_

_It's just like a task, just like any other task_

 

She gathered all the restraint she could to not spit at his feet as she reached the bottom of the throne. He looked down at her in pure delight, like he owned her already.

 

_'Who are you?'_

_No one_

 

“What, Stag?”, she asked, and anyone who would have not been as blindly infatuated as he was would have caught the hatred in her words.

 

“Come, sweet, come sit by my side, come see the world like I see it now.”

 

She gave him an angry smile. She was so bad at being someone else right now, she could almost feel the Elder's stick hitting her shoulder.

 

For a moon, faking happiness had been easy, for this dreaded day seemed to be far. Faking smiles at his foolish jokes had been simple, being called pet names like _'my sweet wolf'_ or _'my northern darling'_ or even ' _beloved_ ' had been tolerable, even if she had gritted her teeth at each of his endearments, and listen to his vaunts for hours had been painful and boring but surmountable.

 

But now, looking pleased was just beyond all her forces, and for each twisted step of the throne that she climbed, she could feel another claw plunge in her chest.

 

“See how the world looks small from up here? And this tiny world will soon be ours…”, he said, biting his thumb.

“Ha! Who could have known, right? When we were children covered in mud, traveling with the Night's Watch, people even believed you were a boy! And look at you now…”, he said, assessing her from crown to sole, and she did the best she could for her nose not to curl up in disgust.

 

She could read his perverted thoughts through his too expressive eyes, through the bulge at level of his crotch, and she felt the bile well up in her throat and forced herself to look away.

 

“Aren't you pleased, precious?”, he said, taking her pale chin in his large fingers for her to look at him.

 

“Very pleased, my King.”, she lied, badly, but he did not catch the lie.

 

He would never catch any of her lies, he knew nothing about who she was. Everything he wanted was to own her, like some prize resting on a shelf somewhere, only there for the owner to brag about it.

 

“Ah, no need for such formalities, treasure…”, he said, his filthy hand traveling down her back, settling on her waist.

“It's just the two of us here, no one to disturb us, no guards, no maids, no redhead assassin-”

 

“What?!”, she asked frowning. She was not able to prevent it.

 

“The man from Harrenhal…”, he outed, hungry eyes looking at her, the putrid scent of perversity impregnated in his skin toying with her nostrils, crawling under her skin, sending shivers and cold sweat down her spine.

 

He pulled her, his arms around her waist, so she now sat astride him. She put her hands on his chest in an attempt to shield herself from him.

 

“Did you not notice the obscene way he always looked at you? Ah, no doubt that old scum wanted you warming his bed… But it's over now, fear not…”, he said, obsessively caressing her cheek like one would pet a dog.

 

_You are the only obscene one here you despicable vermi-_

 

He pulled her face towards his, attempted to kiss her on the lips, but she swiftly turned her head.

 

 _What the hell does he think he's doing now?!_ , she thought, restrained the urge to slap him hard and slit his throat.

 

 _Ah, yes, a nice, clean slit on your worthless throat…_ , the thought appeased her, despite his broad hands wandering across her waist in owning motions.

 

“No need to be shy, love!”, he japed, planted a kiss on her ivory cheek.

 

_You filthy bastard, I'll cut you to pieces, plant your head on a nice sharp spike_

 

“Tonight, you will be mine…”, he said, as one filthy hand found it's way underneath the skirts, and her jaw hardened as she felt his nasty strokes on her bare thigh.

 

_I'll watch blood trickle down your nose and ears, I'll hear your pleas for air as I wrap my hands around your demonic neck_

 

_Just you wait you despicable piece of shit_

 

He pulled her some more, and she could feel his hardness against the inside of her leg, and she felt nauseous.

 

“But oh- we won't wait for tonight, will we?”, he growled intensely, and she froze, petrified, as air died in her lungs.

 

_He wants to take me here_

_Right now_

 

“We have time, I'll give you just a taste…”

 

His arms were trapping her legs, holding her down. She had no weapon on her, the only thing she could do was merely punch him, and she could not, for she was marrying this pervert in a few hours.

 

_Damn it damn it damn it_

 

She panicked.

 

She felt the tight hold of fear on her guts, she felt the alarm rob her of wind, felt her chest lightly tremble in fear. And she was cold, very cold. Strange for there were torches all around, threatening to set all those dried flowers and tapestries on fire any time.

 

She was pale, her eyes were wide, her lower lip slightly twitching. But he did not care about anything she was feeling. The only thing that mattered to him was this throbbing cock of his and his urge to claim her. She was to be his, after all, he had a right to her, the right any husband has regarding his wife, he thought as he grabbed one of her buttocks.

 

“W-why not have a glass of wine first?”, she asked him, her voice shaky.

 

_Say yes say yes say yes say yes say yes say ye-_

 

“No, I want you now.”, he said nipping at her jaw.

 

_Fucking piece of scum_

_You damned bastard_

 

All of her muscles contracted and she gasped and felt tears of anger well up in her eyes as he started stroking her sex in hast motions through her underwear. She grabbed his wrist as forcefully as she could, tried to defend herself, even tried to writhe out of his hold, but he was much stronger than her.

 

“Gendry, no- t-tonight-”, she struggled, tried to close her legs but his grip was unyielding.

 

Arya Stark would have wrung this pervert's neck. But the girl on the man's lap who was forcefully being indulged was not Arya Stark. She was a woman with no strength left, ought to be his damnable wife, she was a piece of merchandize exchanged for an army, her heart was supposed to be unfeeling, and her body did not belong to her anymore, for it did not obey her anymore, and he would _claim_ it, no matter if she willed or not.

 

He kissed her neck, her shoulders, the exposed part of her breasts and damn it, why did those accursed handmaidens choose a dress with so little fabric?!

 

 _I said no,_ she thought, closing her eyes to fight the weeps, as she felt all of her energy being drained from her muscles.

 

Had she still had any power left in her being, she would have spat at him, insulted him until he would understand that this was in no way what she wanted, then make short work out of him for all the things she had endured because of his selfishness, this humiliation, Jaqen's lost, mostly Jaqen's lost…

 

But the only thing she could do was freeze. She had never imagined being in such a state of total surrender. She could simply _not_ fight back. Physically and figuratively. It was like she was a spectator of her own life, not believing her situation, watching the scene from a far. Her body, her soul, her thoughts, everything just stilled, and she did not know how to make it all work anymore.

 

“You _will_ like it. Allow me, sweet heart, now or tonight, what does it change?”, he answered totally blind to her pain, for to him she was just playing coy like all the other servant girls he hand bedded before.

 

She did not answer, her breathing was uneven and her skin as pale as snow. He interpreted it as consent. He began unlacing his breeches, kissed her on the lips, and she felt a wave of revulsion at the feeling of his mouth against hers.

 

And it clicked. It was like a flicker of light in Arya's head.

 

_Of course_

_A kiss!_

 

Life crawled back in her frame. She advanced on his laps, her hips swaying in serpentine motions. She could feel him through the thin fabric, it disgusted her profoundly, but she had a plan, and she had to divert him for a few seconds.

 

“Ha ha! See?!”, he chortled in contempt, very satisfied over his supposed conquest.

“My sweet Arya…”, were his disgusting groans.

 

She took the little vial out of her sleeve. His head was in her neck, his breathing erratic, he did not see. She placed a few drops on her tongue, careful not to swallow.

 

“I've dreamed about this so many t-”

 

She took his face in her hands, and snaked her poisonous tongue in his mouth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo :)  
> I hope you liked reading this chapter, next chapter is coming out next Saturday so be prepared ;)  
> As always, please leave a comment, I love reading them and feedback really helps me continue :)
> 
> Thanks for reading and everything my dears <3
> 
> Artist: @emmney.art


	20. Ice out of Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy, hope you enjoy ;)

He was slowly falling into slumber, and she watched the confused look in his eyes as they closed.

 

_ How the hell am I going to explain that now?! _

 

_ We'll let him take a nap, the ceremony in the New Sept in two hours, he'll surely wake up until then… _

 

His chest was peacefully rising up and down, and there was the sound of his quiet snores filling the throne room.

 

She clicked her tongue as she noticed that one of the swords had pierced through her sleeve. She was feeling dizzy and sleepy too because of the poison that had been in contact with her tongue. She carefully rose from his laps, descended the steps made out of twisted steel. She took a deep breath as she reached the tiled ground, closed her eyes.

 

She re-arranged the fabric of her dress around her shoulders, and she could not repress a shiver as the sensation of his filthy hands on her was still ghosting around her.

 

_ This is doomed to happen someday _

_ And there will be no escape _

 

When he would wake up, she decided that she would act as if they had done it. It would be easy to act surprised when he would tell her that he did not remember a thing, he did not know her, he did not know that she bites her lower lip and that she blinks twice as much as usual when she lies, so he would certainly not notice that the whole story of their encounter would be made up. And she could only wish for him to be too drunk tonight to notice that she will be poisoning his wine.

 

She looked around her. Tables were settled, porcelain dishes and golden cutlery, everything perfectly disposed on smooth yellow cotton tablecloths, and the smell of southern dishes being cooked in the adjacent kitchen filled the huge room. She hated southern food. Everything tasted dull compared to the braavosi, spicy meals or the strong flavored northern recipes.

 

The ceiling was very high, and from it dangled black banners with embroidered golden stags.

 

_ Reversed colors _

_ Bastard colors _

 

She looked at herself, she fit perfectly in the picture with her golden embroidered dress and fancy hair. She flinched, closed her eyes as she felt the poison run through her veins.

 

_ Don't fall asleep, Arya _

_ This is hardly the right place and the right moment _

 

She paced the room, to suppress the numbness in her muscles and the dizziness. She needed to stay in this room for a bit, in order to make it believable and obvious to everyone else who might be standing outside what the King and his Queen-to-be were doing. Surely there was a horde of jealous handmaidens and a bunch of curious knights with their ears stuck to the gate, scrutinizing the quietest noise or moan.

 

There were two piles of gifts in the corner. One for the King, one for the future Queen. High Lords and ladies had brought presents from everywhere, fancy necklaces, rings and gowns for her, daggers and helms and books for him. She silently unsheathed one of the daggers, looked at the details on the hilt, balanced it between two fingers to test it's weight.

 

_ A pity, that he is the one receiving those dainty weapons _

_ He's so bad with a dagger, he's so bad with everything but his damned hammer _

 

She put down the pretty blade, looked at her pile.

 

_ Does truly no one in this darn continent know me at all? _ , she thought sighing, as she examined the gold and silver jewelry, the soft silks and heavy velvets.

_ What in the seven hells am I to do with these? _

_ Just stand somewhere and be part of the decoration!? _

 

With each present was a sealed letter from the guest to the attention of the future ruler. Arya then realized that every single of these presents came with strings. Each and every present that stood on that pile meant that somewhere, a high lord or some noble lady wanted to buy her affection in order to be given a more powerful position in the seven Kingdoms.

 

Something caught her attention beneath a gossamer veil. She lifted it, discovered the silver and blue dragon egg Jon and her had found the day before in the maester's chamber. Underneath it was a scroll.

 

Curious, she unrolled it, revealed Jon's handwriting.

 

“ _Dear little sister,_

 

_ Do you remember when we used to go on adventures around Winterfell when we were children? We would always find incredible objects we called 'treasures', we would hide them in that coffer you kept under your bed and admire them when I came in your room late at night when we were supposed to sleep…  _

 

_ I know that most of the gifts you will receive today will be futile ornaments and expensive clutter you will find no use of, and I have to admit that my present does not serve much of a great purpose either, but please, accept it, put it somewhere safe and think about me when you decide to give it some of your attention. _

 

_ May it remind you these peaceful days of frolicking in the castle just the two of us, look at it like we used to look at our treasures, may it be a remembrance of our love and friendship, and I hope that someday, you will find the strength to forgive me. _

 

_ And do not forget that whatever happens, no matter how things change, you will remain my beloved little sister, and if you need me for anything, I will come as fast as I can. _

 

_ With all my love and respect, _

_ Your brother Jon” _

 

She took a deep breath to keep the tears from falling. No, she would not cry, these were happy memories.

 

She could remember exactly their treasures. She could recall that one time, they were 'on a mission' in Sansa's bedroom, they had stolen her thimbles and pretended it was a pirate's gold which had been lost for centuries. 

 

Another time, they had sneaked into the kitchen, and 'abducted' the pumpkin, for they both hated pumpkin soup and did not want it for dinner. They had hidden it underneath a pile of forage, and months later, people were turning mad for there was a rotten smell in the whole yard and no one knew where it came from. 

 

Arya felt a smile grow on her powdered face at those joyful thoughts. She even tasted a bit of what remained of rouge when she bit her lower lip to keep herself from chortling as she remembered how Septa Mordane and Old Nan used to go crazy over things that seemed to disappear in the castle.

 

_ We used to be terrible children _

_ But we were so close and indifferent about what everyone else thought… _

 

_ 'and I hope that someday, you will find the strength to forgive me' _

 

These words saddened her.

 

_ Ah, but there is nothing to forgive, big brother _

_ This was the right thing to do _

_ And I could never be upset at you… _

_ You are my brother, no matter what, even if we must part, even if they say you are my cousin, you will always be Jon, my best friend…  _

 

_ I need to tell him _ , she thought.

_ I can't let him go without him knowing that he did no harm _

 

Indeed, Jon would leave as soon as the ceremony would be over. 

 

_ Logic _ , Arya thought. 

 

He would have no business in King's Landing after that, there was an army of undead to defeat.  He had  only  stayed this long because he would give away the bride. Formalities.

 

But he had promised her that they would meet again. Of course, he would help Daenerys to take the throne that is hers. Gendry was a fool to think that a mere marriage to a Stark would make the dragon Queen's dreams about the iron throne disappear and secure his seat,  just like anyone who supported his move .  None of them knew the Queen, her temper, her  will to take the throne. 

 

They seemed to underestimate her now because of her penchant for Jon, and Jon was overprotective towards his little sister, they believed that in case of an attack coming from the North, they could hold them off by threatening Arya's life. Somehow they thought that the rightful Queen _obeyed_ Jon only because he was the _man_. Oh- how  wrong they were. 

 

First, they would never be able to threaten  the young assassin's life. She was a trained  killer , she would sli ce all of their throats and escape before they could touch one strand of her hair. 

 

And secondly, the relationship between her brother and his beloved was far from these relationships in which there was a dominant one and a submissive one, unlike the relationships all these old and stupid macho lords know with their voiceless wives who can't speak for themselves. They were equals, both had their word to say, and they were not afraid of doing something that would displease the other; for the good of the people or if it was the smartest thing to do.

 

Of course the silver haired Queen would march on King's Landing, and in addition to what would remain of the Unsullied and the Dothraki, she would have the whole North and the Wildlings behind her, since she was bearing a child who was both the heir to the Northern throne and  to  the Iron throne.

 

Yes, anyone who thought this marriage was securing peace in the seven Kingdoms was a fool. It was just a way to make them all wait until the rightful heiress would claim the throne.

 

She prepared herself to go out,  she needed to talk to him, reassure him . Jon was probably in the room he was assigned, in the quarters reserved to the guests. She crumpled her  skirts, ruffled her neat braids a bit,  smeared the lipstick on the back of her hand,  pinched her cheeks for them  look flush ed in order to look like she just  _copulated_ with that crowned bastard.

 

She opened the doors, a few handmaids who had been there the whole time, their ears on the door, on the lookout for strangled moans or loud groans or anything to gush about, giggled as the future queen paced through the gate, and gods only knew what they were imagining.

 

She faked a pleased smile, narrowed her eyes.

 

_ Ugh _

 

“His majesty is resting, please do not disturb him until it is time to leave.”, she said to the smirking guards, hiding her anger.

 

_ Stop with your perverted thoughts immediately _ , she threatened them silently as the giggles got louder.

 

She found Jon's room, the door was closed.

 

“This is madness!”, she heard him hiss angrily through the walls.

 

He was talking to someone. She approached the entrance quietly, tried to listen to the conversation.

 

“This is the only way.”

 

She knew that voice. And she felt invisible claws dig in her guts as she recalled the ensuing words…

 

_ 'I see a darkness in you. And in that darkness, eyes staring back at me… _

_ Brown eyes, blue eyes, green eyes. Eyes you'll shut forever. _

_ We will meet again.' _

 

_ The Red Woman _

 

She had been on Arya's list. But she was not anymore, like Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr, for Arya had wished that they had killed that cocky bastard.

 

But what was she doing here?

With Jon?

 

_ Jon… _

_ Jon! _

_ King's blood! _

 

She burst into the room.

 

“Jon! Get away from her, she's a witc-”, her words got lost as she faced a very old woman with thin, white hair and a wrinkled face, and skin as pale as ghost's fur.

 

“I know, Arya.”, he answered calmly.

“I know what she did.”

 

“Greetings, Arya Stark. As promised, we meet again.”, she said, bowing.

 

Her voice was still the same. Warm, soft, the voice of a young woman. But her body was the body of a hundred-year-old's.

 

“I have to say I hardly recognized you.”, she continued with her honeyed voice.

 

_ Of course, I'm wearing the most ridiculous dress anyone has ever seen and I let them put freaking make-up on my face _

 

“And I you.”, Arya spat back frowning.

“How…?”, she asked, staring at the aged woman.

 

_ Is she faceless too? _

 

She watched the woman put back the necklace she had hastily removed at the intruder's entry, watched her body loose all of it's wrinkles and paleness, watched her hair regain its fiery red color, watched her morph from an elderly to a seductive tanned woman as the scarlet rock of her piece of jewelry seemed to glow.

 

“A rune, sweet child. A necklace the Lord of Light taught me how to use, just like your masks, Faceless. And in exchange, I serve Him, just like you used to.”

 

_ How in the world could she possibly know about my faces? _

 

“Gaomas ziry gīmigon?”, the woman asked Jon in High Valyrian.

 

Missandei had taught Jon High Valyrian, in order for him to bond with Rhaegal, the old language being the only one the dragons understand.

 

Little did the woman know that Arya had learned Valyrian too during her stay in Braavos, as part of her education. Therefore, she understood.

 

_ Does she know? _

 

“Skoros iksis konīr naejot gīmigon?”, Arya cut their private exchange, proud but confused.

 

_ What is there to know? _

 

Both the woman and Jon were surprised.

 

“Close the door.”, Jon ordered her.

 

She did as she was bid, frowning.

 

“We received a raven from Winterfell…The army of the dead is progressing too fast for us, but if the temperatures would rise, just for a few days, the frozen rivers would melt and we would-”

 

Arya expression dropped.

 

“And you intend on burning someone in order to do so?!”, Arya hissed, her eyes wide for she found the both of them were utterly mad. 

 

She knew about the red witch's habits. She had heard what had happened to Shireen Baratheon, and Gendry had whined enough about what she had attempted to do to him.

 

“Jon, have you lost your mind?!”, she hissed again, trying to breathe some sense into her brother.

 

“Not him.”, the woman cut her.

“But your husband to be, Arya Stark. He has King's blood too. King's blood is powerful, it has worked before.”, she said calmly.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you both! Burning someone won't make the sun shine brighter, even if he has King's blood!”

 

“We have to try.”, Jon responded firmly.

“Arya, I know this sounds crazy but this woman she…she has brought me back to life.”

 

Wind died in her lungs.

 

_ Like Thoros of Myr _

 

_ Jon was dead _

 

She was abashed. Who could have killed Jon? Who could have looked him in the eyes and willed her brother to die? He who was a just and beloved ruler?

 

“She is capable of things…If his life can buy us more time and help us defeat the army of the dead and save everyone else in Westeros, then there is no other option.”, he added, calmly.

 

She nodded. He was right. Moreover, watching this piece of filth burn would certainly feel very satisfying. But their schemes were way too idealistic, and they were not thinking about the consequences. King's Landing loosing two monarchs in a row would be very suspicious.

 

“He's the King. You can't put him on a pyre as easily as you would a child.”, she outed, her mortal gaze on the witch, pure hatred towards the pitiless woman who had blindly followed the God's orders, even if that meant taking the life of innocent children.

 

“Your brother would not be standing here breathing, had I not put that child on a pyre.”, the woman answered, sure of herself but a hint of sadness in her eyes, not regret, but sorrow, shame.

 

Then she spoke, as if the God himself was murmuring words in her ear.

 

“For only death may pay for life. Can you not recall, lovely girl?”

 

It was like a punch in the guts. Arya took a step back. Maybe it was out of fright, or perhaps just out of surprise, she did not know.

 

“We have to do it as quickly as possible.”, she continued, her voice as soft as honey yet as warm as embers, as if nothing happened.

 

“We can't simply kill the King! What will happen to the armies he sent North? Who will sit on the throne during the Great War?! And should we not talk to Daenerys and Sansa about this before we act?”, Arya hissed after retrieving her senses, careful not to be too loud for it is said that the walls have ears.

 

“There is no time, the army of the dead is growing by the day, water seems to be the only way to hinder them, and even then, we barely stand a chance. The Hand will sit on the throne after him, there is no way he could order the southern armies to retreat now, some of them have reached Winterfell, they saw what is coming, the news has traveled. Everybody knows that it is real now, they will not retreat because their King died, even if we were to say that we killed him, their love for life is greater than their love for revenge.”, Jon answered.

 

He closed his eyes, hated his idea but still uttered it.

 

“Arya, you…you will share his bed tonight.”, he said through clenched teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose for the idea revolted him.

“Wait for him to be asleep, I'm sure you have enough strength to tie him to the bed, right? And then you escape the room, make sure that people see you going out, they must see that you did not originate the fire and burn their King, for we must not launch a war between North and South, there is so little time already…My Lady, when Arya is out, enter the room and perform your rituals. This can work, we have to be careful, but we can win.”

 

“This seems crazy, and this is…betrayal…”, Arya outed in disbelief.

 

“We will leave as soon as we can, as soon as it is not suspicious for us to leave.”, Jon added.

 

Arya was still not convinced. Not that killing Gendry was a problem to her, it was the idea of all of these fire rituals and the intention behind it that sounded utterly mad. And they had a treaty with the South through this marriage, this was high treason, very far from what her father had taught his children about respect and honor. She was very surprised that Jon had even considered the idea in the first place.

 

“All of these blood-magic tricks never lead to anything good! It's not just a powerless child you intend on sacrificing, it's a _King_. A lot could go wrong should we fail, what if someone discovers that it was us? This is treachery, and we are not only risking our lives, it's putting every breathing westerosi creatures' days in danger!”, Arya whispered, thinking about the consequences for once. How odd was it, that she was the reasonable one?

 

“We have to try, and act quick, there is no other choice.”, Melisandre attempted to convince her and the King in the North once more, who was clearly not at ease with the idea of breaking an oath.

“You have a role to play in the prophecy, my King, and you cannot fulfill it here. As for you, sweet girl, maybe you would prefer to be home and tend to your beloved wounds instead of playing the little lady here, am I wrong?”

 

“Beloved?”, Jon frowned.

 

“Wounds?”, Arya outed in terror, mouth agape in disbelief.

 

_ Jaqen? _

_ No, no, no _

_ Jaqen cannot be wounded _

_ Jaqen's body was made to wield weapons and kill and pleasure _

_ It does not simply  _ **wound**

 

“Sīr ziry gaomas daor gīmigon.”, the woman stated coldly.

 

_ So she does not know. _

 

“Know what?! Jon, what didn't you tell me?!”, she urged her brother, her voice high-pitched and angry.

 

He lowered his gaze, mumbled.

“Sansa…wrote that it might be best that you don't concern yourself with-”

 

“Jon! Tell me! Jon, I need to know, please! What happened?!”, she begged, her nerves on the verge of exploding, reaching for his hand. For once she did not care if she sounded ridiculous.

 

He took a deep breath in, looked sadly at the scroll.

 

*

 

“The first raid that was sent North, with your Lorathi master, they did not come back, they had to send another.”, he said, his tone dry. He hated himself, he could not look into her eyes as he spoke. He was breaking her heart, for the second time.

“Sandor Clegane found him and his young pupils on his way back. They had lost their horses, and he was severely hurt. When he was first brought back in the castle, they thought the cold had taken him…”, he watched his little sister bite down her lower lip, fight against tears.

 

_ Damn it _

_ She **does** love him _

 

“Samwell did everything he could, but he fought off all the whites that had rushed towards them, all of his pupils are alive and well thanks to him, but he…Sansa said in the scroll that he was still between life and death…”, he continued, the sight of his sister crumbling apart strangling him.

 

“When?”, she asked through clenched teeth, her eyes avoiding him, staring at emptiness.

 

“A few days ago.”, he answered in a low tone.

 

“And you didn't think I'd like to know?”, she asked, her trembling voice like a thousand daggers planting in his heart.

 

“Arya…”, he tried to soothe her.

“You do love him…”, he stated, only realized seconds later that he had spoken out loud.

 

She clenched her teeth.

 

“Gendry is sleeping in the throne room. Get in, torch him, and we're off.”, she addressed to the red woman.

 

The Ashai'i and Jon exchanged a confused look.

 

“He summoned me there an hour ago and I poisoned him with Nightsshade so that he would not _fuck_ me right on that damnable chair.”, she outed in pure spite, empathizing the word just in order to hurt her brother, even though she knew it was a childish and selfish thing to do. 

 

Jon had no doing in what had happened, he had tried to protect her, and she knew it. But she was so sick of people trying to protect her as if she was some kind of fragile little flower. There are things she can decide for herself, and that included knowing about the state of the man she fucking _loved_.

 

“Even fire won't wake him, you have a few hours until the others will notice that the throne room has become a bonfire, no one will dare enter until then.”, she explained before walking out of the room, the sound of her swishing heavy skirts accompanying her, reaching her quarters.

 

Jon clenched his teeth. Hard. Seconds passed, he concentrated on not exploding and going to punch the guts out of that bastard and flare the doomed boy himself.

 

_ He touched her _ ,  images popped in his head, like a dagger piercing his throat.

_ He could have hurt her _ ,  he exhaled, nose curling up.

_ And I did nothing to protect her _

 

“Umbagon kesīr.”, the woman told the King in the North after some time.

“Iksan jāre naejot gaomagon ziry, henujagon skori issa jēda.”

 

_ Remain here. _

_ I am going to do it, leave when it is time. _

 

He nodded, closing his eyes to regain some calm. They must not raise suspicions.

 

“Se gaomagon daor nārhēdegon, Ionos Sōnaro…”

 

_ And do not forget, Jon Snow… _

 

“Ōñosmaghare kostagon mērī sagon mazvēttan rȳ se prūmia hen Nissa Nissa.”

 

_ Lightbringer can only be created through the heart of Nissa Nissa _

 

He frowned, and watched her leave.

 

_ * _

 

“Where is the King?”, the Hand, lord Estermont asked.

“He must depart now, or else he will be late for his own wedding!”

 

“I don't know m'lord… he was with the Lady Arya last time we've seen him. In the throne room, he said he did not want to be disturbed.”

 

“Ha! Our King wanted a bit of a jolly before the boring ceremony! And they're still in there? It would be a shame to put an ending to such…festivities, ha!”

 

The guards and the maids chortled at the old man's jape.

 

“The Queen has left a few hours ago, my lord. She is waiting for her carriage in the Maidenvault. She said the King was resting.”

 

“She tired him so that he decided to sleep on that uncomfortable throne, ha! Well, we should send someone wake him up then!”, he laughed again.

 

“We did, m'lord, maybe three hours ago an old cook volunteered, crazy she looked if you ask me, but she went in there and never came back, surely that ancient thing forgot and went right to the kitchen.”

 

“Ah well, you go wake him up then girl. And if his majesty is not too mad at you, go find that old one in the kitchen and tell her she is done with serving the King, we cannot afford useless domestics. Oh, and tell them that whatever they are cooking smells rather…burnt, our King does not fancy eating charcoal.”

 

*

 

The Red Keep was now pure chaos. People were running around like mad, screaming _Fire! Fire!_

 

But Arya could not watch this scenery in delight. She had thought that the mere idea of being home soon would be enough to cheer her up, if not the realization that this filthy bastard would never again lay his perverted hands on her, but she could not enjoy any of those statements. Her mind, her soul, every droplet of her being hoped- fuck, even _prayed-_ that Jaqen be alive, that she would be able to see him when she comes back. Even from a far, just get a glimpse of him breathing, before she could start on hating him again.

 

The Red witch had been true to her word. She had collected all the dried flowers, the heavy draperies, everything flammable and the throne room had transformed into a pyre. The whole room was on fire, and they had not achieved opening the doors yet, they had only realized that there was a conflagration because of the flames which had rose up and started consuming the roof. The Asshai'i had been careful to launch the fire in the right place, so that Gendry's body would burn first without anyone outside noticing that there was actually a fire.

 

The flames had grown rather high actually, without anyone noticing. How convenient, that the only windows this huge room had regarded the gardens that were never visited in winter? No one could have seen the devastating red dancing in the room before it was too late.

 

Of course, all the wedding ornaments had quickened the process. The witch had stayed in the room, reciting old incantations while watching her powerful King's blood being offered to her God. She had let the flames reach her. She did not even scream, did not even hum. Her mission was over. She had brought Ice and Fire together, had done all that was in her power to help the Living and R'lhor's champion. And as promised by the Lord of Light, she was dying on these Lands, far from Asshai, her home.

 

Arya could see the flames go through the roof of the throne room, could see the servants and the guards desperately try to stop the ravaging fire by throwing buckets and buckets of water.

 

The scent of ash and burnt steel and stone and flesh, and a hint of strange, enchanted aura could be sensed in the walls of the Red Keep. There was the sound of the bell, ringing for a royal's departure, the melody of sobbing people who mourned their young King.

 

Hours passed, and still, the flames were consuming. She could see it through the windows of the small hall, where everyone had been gathered. It was late in the afternoon now, the sun had set, only the glow coming from the destroying blaze against the scarlet tiles of the Red Keep remained as only source of light. She had switched her wedding gown and neat fancy braids for a ridiculously prim black dress, and she had loosened her hair for she could not bear it anymore, as well as the make up which she had forcefully scrubbed from her pale face. 

 

Her usual mask, the pleased expression, was replaced by an empty look. This look was not faked however, for she truly mourned. But no one needed to know for whom.

 

“My condolences, Lady Arya.”, the former Hand, now protector of the realm spoke, obviously not heartbroken over his beloved King's demise, for he was now officially the most powerful man in the seven Kingdoms.

 

_ Officially _

_ And not for long _

_ Just you wait for Daenerys to come by _

_ Just you wait _

 

“Truly, I do not understand how this happened. We scouted the whole castle for the woman who was with him, it appears that she has succumbed too…”

 

She lowered her gaze.

 

“Lord Snow, I insist that this matter be taken care of when the Great War is over… Edric Storm, another of Robert Baratheon's bastard will reclaim the throne. This alliance between North and South must stand…we are counting on you to keep the peace.”

 

_ Oh, please _

_ 'The peace' _

_ There will be no peace until Daenerys finally sits on that throne _

_ There will be fire and blood and screams and acclaims for a just ruler _

_ The Seven Kingdoms cannot be ruled by uneducated bastards manipulated by old cunts like you anymore _

 

“The boy is young, but he has he Usurper's blood running through his veins, he is said to be kind and valorous, my Lady.”

 

_ He's just a tool for you to have power _

_ But I am not _

 

“When the Great War is won, my Lords, we will _discuss_ about these arrangements.”, Arya voiced out with a cold voice, and it was the first time she spoke since the encounter with the witch.

 

_ We'll discuss with my knife against your throat you stupid fancy lords, thinking that I'm some brood mare ought to give you more bastards to manipulate _

_ We'll have a very nice conversation if Daenerys doesn't decide to burn you out of her way _

 

“We must leave now, I'm afraid the dead did not wait for the King in the North to be back to rush upon us while we were here planning ceremonies.”, she added, ever so coldly.

 

“That is right, my Lords. You should join us, you are able fighters, we could care for some more men.”, Jon stated.

 

“Ah, we're old flesh and bones, one gust of wind and we shatter to ashes! But we will send all the men we have left, we have now… the certitude that the threat is real.”, Lord Estermont added.

 

Jon clenched his teeth, but nodded, waved at Arya to follow him.

 

“Get ready, I will feed Rhaegal and we will take off…”

 

Arya nodded, not looking at him in the eyes, a totally blank expression on her face while she headed towards the Maidenvault again. Jon caught her arm, pulled her to him.

 

“Arya, please…You know I did not intend to hurt you…”

 

He took her chin in his hand, forced her to look at him. Her eyes were glistening, and it felt like a hard slap on his face. Never had he seen her so sorrowful. He had seen her angry, shouting and on the verge of exploding, he had seen her bored and annoyed, but never this… _hurt_.

 

He pulled her in a tight embrace.

 

“He will be fine, I know it…”, he whispered in her ear.

 

They were in the middle of the yard. They did not care if people would see them. It was a great display, actually, for her worry could be interpreted as mourn for the King.

 

She nestled in his arms, inhaled the smell of steel and leather, that familiar smell that reminded her of home.

 

“No you don't…”, she said biting her lip, before breaking away.

 

She found herself in the room she had been assigned. It was quiet, and dark, no candles had been lit. There were only the faint sounds of flames and shouts outside, smothered by the thick walls.

She picked up the cutthroat she had hidden next to Needle under the bed, swiftly cut through the tight dress. She could not be bothered with all the lacing and twirled ribbons. She slipped in her winter clothes, wrapped her cloak around her little shoulders.

 

_ Quicker _

 

She pulled out a pouch, threw in the first clothes that fell in her hands. She carefully placed the scroll her brother had written her in it. Despite leaving his present here and not getting married, it was a nice letter, a precious thing to her she wanted to keep. She was not like Sansa, who was used to writing what went through her mind and her feelings in a little book each night, like Missandei had advised her to do when she felt lonely.

 

No, Arya kept little mementos. She had Neddle, which was Jon's smile, but also Sansa's giggles at the young one's rough embroider. The cutthroat was Bran's blue gaze kindly surveying her, and the far memory of little Rickon's laughs. Her man's clothes and northern fashion was her father's clap when she reached her goals. Sometimes she braided her now long hair, and she could almost feel her mother's long fingers through the chestnut locks. And the coin, oh, that awful iron coin. It was Jaqen's golden eyes looking through hers, the sensation of his hair of red and white brushing against her cheek, his scent of ginger and cloves, his lips against her cheek- she blocked her thoughts, it was too much.

 

_ Not now _

_ Hurry for Gods sake Arya! _

 

She tied up the whole thing, fixed her weapons at her hips, and threw the heap of fabric on her shoulder. She took a little loaf of bread, there would be no time to stop to eat and sleep once they would take off, they would need to be at Winterfell as soon as possible.

 

She met Jon in the outer yard. Somehow the flames had grown low, people were preparing themselves to go in the burnt throne room to extinguish the fire from inside, and see what remained of their King.

 

But as they tried to open the melted gate, Rhaegal landed, his emerald scales glistening, and shouted his lungs out. 

 

Everyone screamed in pure terror and fled as quickly as they could. It was strange, the dragon had been peacefully flying over the pyre high up in the clouds for hours, but now he growled at the few guards who froze, totally petrified by the beast, showing his double set of sharpened teeth, glowing dragonfire forming in his maw, threatening, and Arya was sure a few of the men had shitted their pants.

 

There were the sounds of high pitched shrieks at the sight of the gigantic creature. The winged reptile of jade and orange was usually calm and almost inspired respect by his majestic allure and composed grace, he had never acted so.

 

“Lord Snow! What does this mean?!”

 

“The beast has gone crazy! We're all doomed!”, were the shouts of others.

 

Jon was utterly confused. The dragon who was named after his father growled at whoever would take a step towards the fire. Never had he shown such pure rage and anger.

 

He took a few steps towards the enraged beast, he was not afraid. He had dragon's blood, they were bound. He held out his hand, tried to understand, the beast only gnarled in response.

 

“Skoros iksis ziry? Skoros issi ao sumby hen zirȳ?”, Jon addressed to the dragon, looking through his eyes, and somehow, Arya was sure that the dragon had understood.

 

_ What is it? What are you shielding from them? _

 

They heard the roof collapse, hitting the ground in a heavy sound.

 

“We must stop the fire! It will consume the whole Keep! Lord Snow, order that beast to move aside!”

 

But Jon and the dragon were oblivious to anything that was happening, the young King was trying to understand. The heavy wooden doors that were once the color of ebony crashed to the ground, only inches away from the dragon who did not even flinch, the black timber shattering into a thousand little pieces. Everyone tried to get a glimpse at the chaos inside. The iron throne was still standing strong behind the inferno.

 

The dragon looked inside, and he was wearing an expression of worry, haste, pride, Arya did not know what to call it, but it confused her. He looked at Jon's chestnut irises again, and as if pulled by some kind of strange spell, Jon walked towards the pyre.

 

“Lord Snow!”

 

“Jon come back here!”, Arya shouted.

 

_ What in the seven hells is wrong with this man! _

 

She rushed towards the fire to pull him back, but a guard caught her, strongly held her waist. She was screaming, struggling against the strong hold as air escaped her lungs.

 

_ Let me go! He's crazy, I need to go! _ , were her vain protestations.

_ Jon come back! _ , she continued hopelessly.

 

She was not the only one to scream, but both the dragon and Jon seemed to be deaf to everyone's desperate calls. She watched him step into the room on fire. Rhaegal wrapped a wing around him, protected him from the blazes as his figure was getting lost in the flames.

 

And everything stilled. There were no shouts, no crumbling walls, just the sound of the combustion.

One minute passed, two.

 

And they saw a figure walk back, still guarded by the dragon.

 

No one dared a word. His leather coat was scorched, the flesh of his left arm looked like it had melted, he was covered in ash and embers had lost themselves in his ruffled locks of chestnut.

 

And no one dared say anything. Arya did not even find anything to scream at him. All watched in pure awe and wonder.

 

For in his hands was a silver and white _baby dragon_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo there we go ;)  
> Please tell me in the comments what you thought about this chapter!  
> Well, I hope you have a nice week-end wherever you are on the world, thank you all so much for keeping up with my little story :)
> 
> Next chapter: Winterfell (finally!)
> 
> Artist: @emmney.art on instagram ;)


	21. Last Cry

 

As promised, the Lust River melted, preventing the army of the dead to cross. The white walkers were trapped and would need to go around it or wait for it to freeze again.

 

The army of the Living needed to shoot _now_.

 

*

 

The shy lights of the winter morning sun were showing through the clouds as Rhaegal landed near Winterfell.

 

Jon, and Arya, to everyone's surprise, were immediately taken inside, near a fireplace and underneath all the furs the handmaids could gather. They were shivering like mad and icicles had started to form at the tip of their hair. They had traveled all night long in each others arms under all the cloaks and furs they could find in their travel bags, and never in her entire life had Arya been so cold. At some point in the night she even thought the frigidity would steal her from this world, but she hanged on.

 

Sansa and the dragon queen had been woken up immediately to greet them, they had recounted them everything, careful about the wandering ears who might hear that they were responsible for the Stag King's death.

 

“So…who is on the throne now?”, Sansa asked, her little sister still nestled in her tight embrace. They did not care about the show of emotions, they were only family here. And Arya enjoyed the warm hug, the delicate scent of her sister. She was exhausted, but she had to stay awake, she fought the heavy lids.

 

“Lord Estermont. It is only temporary, they intend on putting another Baratheon bastard on it to please the people, they already have plans of marrying him.”, Jon spoke, before gulping down his stew and enjoy the burning liquid flowing down his throat.

 

The dragon Queen scoffed.

 

“I must admit that they are quite _enthusiastic_.”, she said, her amused eyes on the tiny dragon Jon was holding in his arms while she rubbed her full and round belly.

 

Oh, how Arya pitied the men.

 

_They sure are going to regret not fearing her enough_

 

They had all experienced the queen's heart melt at the sight of the King in the North with that baby dragon in his arms. She was definitely more emotional these days, no doubt the forthcoming birth of their child had something to do with it. When Jon had reunited with his Queen, Arya had felt a pinch in her heart. They had only held hands for they were in public, but _oh_ , that look they exchanged…

 

It had been an hour since their arrival now, and no one had told her anything about Jaqen. And Arya did not dare ask, she did not want to hear something that might displease her, she did not think she would have the strength after this dreadful night up in the freezing sky. She had just been blankly staring into the fire, for a full hour, barely touching the warm food. Of course she caught the worried looks Jon threw at her sometimes, the questioning gaze Sansa granted him. And she did not know how to interpret these confusing looks. In truth, she did not _want_ to interpret them, she wanted to go back in time and find the lorathi again, hold him tight, never let go of him, not even caring if he would push her away.

 

“Arya, Jon, you should rest.”, Sansa added.

 

“No, if Melisandre did everything right, the temperatures should higher, but it's only going to be for a few days, we have to prepare the attack now.”, Jon mumbled, the darkness under his eyes emphasized by the nearby glaze.

 

“And we will be able to plan way more efficiently when you are rested.”, Daenerys spoke.

“We already know what we have to do. Encircle them with fire and shoot Vis-…the ice dragon down. We can prepare for this while you sleep for a few hours.”

 

He breathed in, and smiled. She was right.

 

“Aye, fine.”, he spoke, a corner of his mouth lifting.

“Well then, my ladies, my Queen.”, he said bowing. The little dragon somehow did not want to leave him, he- or _she_ , no one really knew-had already bonded with Ghost, and Jon had been the first face it saw when it hatched besides Rhaegal's, it had imprinted on him, regarded him as it's parent now. Ironical, since it's rider would probably be Jon's child.

 

“You should get some sleep too, Arya, the day will be long.”, Sansa spoke with a low tone in her ear.

She stood up, freed her sister from her arms.

“I will take care of informing everyone about the situation-”

 

Arya swiftly caught her sleeve.

 

“Where is he?”, she asked, astonished by the sound of her own voice, breaking and unwarm. The question rose an uncomfortable tension consuming her from the inside, stirring her guts.

 

She was inwardly imploring, then she cursed. For the hundredth, or the thousandth time, or maybe even more. She was too obsessed.

 

_If he's alive, then what?_

_Are you going to crawl back to him like a depraved?_

 

A facet of her personality screamed _Yes_ , but her pride and anger intervened.

Sansa put a hand on her little sister's snow white cheek, soothed it with a thumb as if applying balm on her little shattered heart.

 

“He is doing alright, he was transported in a chamber under the maester's turret, Tarly took good care of him.”, she said with her soft and melodious voice, and suddenly, Arya felt like the claws that had planted themselves in her chest for more than a moon now finally let go of her, and she rediscovered breathing.

 

She nodded, thanked her sister, and hastily walked towards the maester's turret. Sansa did not insist on telling her that she should go sleeping, and did nothing to hold her back, she knew it would be of no use and she totally understood.

 

Arya entered the quiet building. The air was still, it smelled of blood and chemistry, of boiled linen and herbs.

 

Samwell Tarly was here, he was busying himself helping Maester Wolkan tend the wounds of a soldier.

 

“Oh, Lady Arya! I didn't expect you here, this place is filth-”

 

“Where is… the Essosi with red and white hair?”, she asked, her voice low not to disturb the sick and sleeping ones.

 

The lad frowned, confused by her query, but led her through the corridor, until they reached the very end of it.

 

Arya forgot how to breathe again as she stood in front of the closed door the maester had pointed at before he left her alone.

 

_What if he's sleeping?_

 

_And how bad are his wounds?_

 

_Will he even want to see me?_

 

_What if he doesn't even grant me a look?_

 

_Maybe he hates me…_

 

_How could he hate me, am I not supposed to be the one hating him?_

 

_And if he doesn't hate me, how come he doesn't know I'm here?_

 

_The dragon landing was loud enough, did he not come to see me because he doesn't want to?_

 

She was turning crazy. She cut her flow of thoughts, took a deep breath, her fingers slightly trembled as she slowly turned the handle, the door creaked quietly as she pushed the heavy wood with an unsure hand, and…

 

Nothing.

 

The bed was empty, the sheets crumpled, the curtains drawn, dim light entering the room, his scent of ginger and cloves still lingering in the stiff and still air, mixed up with the nasty odor of blood and pain.

 

She clenched her teeth.

 

_I'm sick of your games, Jaqen H'ghar_

 

*

 

A few hours it had been now. Daenerys had come to rest beside him, she just lied there on the furs next to him, watching the peaceful ups and downs of his chest in delight, observing the silver dragon that had nestled in his neck to relish the heat while she had a hand on her belly, feeling the kicks and the moves. This little one stirring inside of her may have been the only person in this whole castle who did not need sleep right now.

 

_Sir, issi ao daor gūrogon aōha jēda, jorrāelagon?_

 

_Now, aren't you taking your time, love?_

 

Indeed, both maester Walkon and Samwell Tarly had told her that it would not be long anymore, until this little dragon would take his first breath. And she truly longed to meet this small miracle.

But still, she was afraid that when this sweet thing would finally show his or her face, that it will be covered in scales, like Rhaego had been, and she was not sure if she could go through another loss. The thought had haunted her, even if she had tried to brush it away many, many times.

 

“Hello, silver stranger…”, Jon growled opening his eyes, rolling over to the side to face her, before running a thumb on her cheek.

 

She smiled back at him, got lost in his loving stare.

The silence got disturbed by the low snarl of the tiny winged reptile that had been woken up.

 

“Oh, precious…”, Daenerys could not help it.

 

She delicately traced the little scales, glistening in the morning sun. The dragon did not pull back, it lingered into the touch, and she felt a wave of motherly pride at the baby's acceptance.

 

“She's so tiny, so much more than my three when they were small…”, she observed.

 

“She?”, Jon asked.

 

“I guess…”, she continued.

“It's quite hard to tell for dragons, some stories even say that they are neither male nor female but both, maybe it's because ' _zaldrīzes_ ' has no gender in high valyrian… The only way to know is if they lay eggs or not, but I don't know, she… she has this queenly grace, don't you think?”

 

“She does…”, he said before planting a kiss on her cheek.

“A queen needs a name, right?”

 

“Well, you choose it.”, she smiled at him, and their gaze locked.

“You hatched her.”

 

“I did not…I just took her out of the flames. And she doesn't seem to respond to any of the names I have tried. Silver, Steel, Snow, not even Ice and White…”, he heard his beloved chortle.

 

“Perhaps she wants a queen's name, let's see…”

 

_Rhaella?_

_Helaena?_

_Visenya, maybe?_

_Naerys, no? Aelinor?_

 

And she went on, with all the names of queens of Westeros she could remember, but the stubborn little thing could not be disturbed by her calls.

 

“I fear that we are going to have to wait, to see what her temper is like, maybe then we will know her name.”

 

_Silverflame, Winterglaze, maybe?_

 

He crawled out of the bed, dressed up.

 

“Are the men ready?”, he asked as he watched her look grow sad.

 

“They are, they left as soon as you came back, transported the scorpions and set camp on the other side of the Lust River, they are waiting for us to arrive to launch the attack-”

 

“Us?”, he frowned.

 

“Why, yes, us, with Drogon and Rhaegal… You said so yourself, if we disturb the Night King with a combat in the air, it will be much easier for those on the ground to shoot down the ice-dragon-”

 

“You're not going up there.”, he cut her, his tone severe.

 

“Of course I'm going!”, she said with her intimidating Queen's voice, standing to give herself more composure.

“I am not asking you for permission, we are going to destroy the Night King together. Jon, he killed Viserion, I lost a child because of him, you didn't think-”

 

“You are **not** going!”, he raised his voice, and the sturdy walls trembled as wind died from the Queen's lungs.

How he looked at her now, threatening, he had almost achieved to _scare_ her with his authoritarian deep and raw voice. Yes, for a brief moment, the dragon in him had awoken.

 

He slowly advanced towards her, placed a hand on her stomach, swollen with his child, deeply looked at her purple irises with a kinder stare.

 

“You're right”, he began again, his voice gentler.

“I don't own you, you don't need my permission, but this…”, he said, caressing her belly, feeling the slight kicks and the fatherly energy raise up in him.

“I have a say in all of this, I want you both safe.”

 

She gulped down, discovering a facet of him she did not know before.

 

_Overprotective_

_So…charming_

 

She nodded, he did not give her much of a choice. And somehow, she _loved_ it. Someone who was not afraid to speak against her, to raise his tone at her, to protect her, this was who Jon Snow was, and she almost sensed the ground evade, the emptiness bellow her feet when she felt how deeply she was falling for him again.

 

*

 

“I'm going with you.”

 

“No, Arya, you're not- Did you sleep, like, at all? You look even more tired than when we landed-”, Jon remarked.

 

“I'm going with you!”, she hissed again.

 

“Do you know how to throw spears with a scorpion? Or ride a dragon?”

 

“I can fight-”

 

“Then you are not coming.”, he growled as he heard her exhale sharply.

 

Their gaze locked for a moment, she looked truly exhausted, heavy dark bags under her eyes, her skin as pale as the snow surrounding them, her lips dry. She did not sleep, Jon knew her enough. He also knew her Lorathi friend was nowhere to be found.

 

_How can one single man put her in such a state?_

_I will slice his throat should I cross his path_ , he thought, protective.

 

Jon had briefly asked himself why the man had flown away, why he had not wished to see Arya after a moon of being apart from his 'beloved', like Melisandre had said, but had quickly renounced to wonder about him. There was no time, and he seemed to be a mystery to everyone, even to Arya.

 

_When I come back, I will ask her what all of this means_ , he promised himself.

_He better not have hurt her, or he's doomed_

 

“I swear if you don't come back, I'll come find you in the deepest of the seven hells and I'll drag you out of there, don't you dare leave us now.”, she said with a threatening tone that contrasted with her womanly voice, looking into his eyes.

 

He smiled, planted a kiss on her forehead, looked at Sansa up there on one of the balconies, Bran by her side, bowed his head at his queen. He prayed for this not to be their farewell. He also prayed for her not to give birth while he was away. He would not be gone for long, but he wanted to be with her when their child would open his or her eyes for the first time. And the fact that this child was still to be born gave him a good excuse to keep her here, in Winterfell, safe.

 

_Take all the time you need, little one_

 

He paced towards Rhaegal, who was surveying the little dragon. He too, looked like a father while his gigantic head was hovering over the tiny reptile whose scales were mingling with the snow. The young one was not afraid, he had hatched her and watched her take her first breath, they were bound. She merely snarled as a warm gust of air escaped Rhaegal's nostrils.

 

The air was biting cold, it felt like little icicles were piercing through his skin, cutting his frozen flesh as he reached the camp. The scorpions had been displayed methodically, the army of the dead was unmoving, on the other side of the Lust River, staring at the Living, waiting for orders from their Night King or for the river to freeze again so that they would be able to traverse.

 

The River would hopefully not freeze again right away however. During Jon's time in King's Landing, the Maesters had transported the buckets of dull fire, arranged it all along the river according to their calculations, so that in case it would freeze, they would light up the flames and prevent anyone- or rather, anything- from crossing.

 

Jon felt his heart being held tightly. That was it. This day marked the beginning of the Great war, the first real combat of dead against living.

 

The plan was simple.

Well, sounded simple.

 

_Dragon first_

_Lighting up the fire wall_

_Killing the Night King_

 

Of course, things never go as planned, Jon knew that things would rapidly become utter chaos. The only goal, for everyone this afternoon, was shooting down the dragon, therefore, all the men did not come with them. Only ten thousand were on the other side of the Lust river, on the side of the Living. Men who have nothing to loose, for this was suicide, the dragon could cross over and burn them all in seconds.

 

Fifty thousand had remained around Winterfell, twenty thousand were yet to arrive as well as the army of mercenaries, southern men, dornish and essosi fighters who had never seen snow and never felt the cold, but still, their help was more than welcome against what looked like a hundred and fifty thousand whites.

 

_The odds are against us_

_But we have to win, this is the only way, there is no other solution_

 

The ice-dragon had not been seen yet, only by Bran.

 

_At the tail of the horde_ , the three eyed raven had said. But Bran had also told his brother that he could be sensed by the Night King now, that it had become dangerous for him to warg into animals near him.

 

Luring the Night King by attacking the head of the trail, this was the first part of the plan. Shoot the dragon before nightfall, the second, most difficult part. Remain alive, the optional part of the plan, nearly impossible. White Walkers and whites cannot throw spears, only the Night King can, Rhaegal was safe as long as the Night King was nowhere to be seen. Of course, having Drogon with would have made the whole thing easier, but there was no way Daenerys would ride with him there, and the dreadful creature could not escape the spears on his own, he had to be guided.

 

“While I am up there”, he started, addressing to the ten thousand men in front of him. In the first row, were Bronn of the Blackwater and Ser Davos.

“Wait for the Night King to appear, and shoot him down as quick as possible, this is our only goal for now! On this side of the river, you are safe as long as this dragon doesn't breathe his fire on you!”

 

The men nodded, acclaimed their King, who was not afraid to risk his own life in order to save the Kingdoms of the Living.

 

Jon took a deep breath, surveyed the sky, threw a quick glance at the whites waiting on the other side of the water.

 

_And now it starts._

 

Rhaegal was now high up in the air.

_Drakarys! Drakarys!_ Jon would order, and after minutes, he heard a loud and breathy cry, and saw the undead-dragon emerge from the horizon. His scales had lost their cream and golden shine, he was now ash colored and frozen looking, blue eyed, and the Night King on his back was holding another spear. Jon tightened his grip on the scales.

 

_Pālegon!_

_Spin!_

 

He dodged the attack, as did the Night King with the tens of spears that were aimed at him. Jon felt the harsh wind whip his flesh, he forgot about the cold and the snow as he directed the beast to escape the Night King's attacks.

 

_Bē!_

_Up!_

 

And the clash commenced. Wings cutting through the cold wind, scales slicing the sky, dragons dancing and dallying around the colored flames. The ice dragon rushed towards the breathing reptile and his rider, avoided all the spears that were thrown at him, Valyrian and Dragonglass.

Jon's heart was plundering in his chest, this might take longer than what was planned, they needed to defeat him before the sun would set, it would be too difficult for the men to aim in the dark.

 

_Quick, quick!_

 

_Drakarys!_ He ordered while flying back towards the living. He must draw the undead reptile towards the spears, but the resurrected dragon was much faster that his, and right behind. He heard this sound, this sound he knew the dragons made when they were about to spit fire.

 

_Ilagon!_

_Down!_

 

But the undead ones followed him on his way down. They flew right above the army of whites. The blue flame got really close from Rhaegal's left wing, and the dragon hissed in pain.

 

_We can do this,_ Jon thought, clutching at any spark of hope he could.

 

_Tolī adere!_

_Faster!_

 

_We must face him, there is no other way,_ he desperately searched for a way to be done with him.

 

The living were running out of spears already, the waves of lances came less frequently.

 

The ice dragon prepared himself to spit fire again. Jon heard the breathy sound, and he felt beads of cold sweat run down his back for escaping the blow this time was close to impossible.

 

But before the sky could be adorned with blue blazes again, Drogon appeared, forcefully collided with his undead brother, almost knocking him to the ground with a loud snarl that was both suffering and determination.

 

No, not Drogon.

A white-eyed Drogon.

 

_Bran!_

 

The dragon got close enough to the ground for a valyrian steel spear to find its way through it's scales. He exploded, and it was a rain of ice-blades that hit the snowy ground.

 

The cry was deafening and resonated, made the whole North tremble.

 

But this cry was like a sweet melody to the ears of the living, it was the cry of victory. They all shouted their joy and release and the beast exploded in thousands and thousands of icicles, the force of the explosion creating a strong gust of freezing cold wind.

 

They saw the Night King fall from the sky, crash in the middle of the army of the dead, on the other side.

 

Rhaegal and Drogon landed, and spit fire on the dull substance, lightning the Wall of blaze.

 

“Your grace, the wall of fire stands strong, the Night King cannot cross anymore, ride back with the dragons before he throws a spear at them, we will prepare for another attack as soon as the southern men arrive.”, Ser Davos said, after a few moments.

 

*

 

The water of the bath was still lukewarm, Arya enjoyed watching the vapor emanate from her wrinkled skin. She had needed a bath, to bring the anger out, to rest a little. Jon was home and safe, she searched for peace in her stormy mind. The middle of the night it was, now. The air was heavy and scented, and it reminded her of the hot nights of summer in Braavos, spent looking at the clear and bright sky and mending her various bruises.

 

There were no bruises to take care of this time, the pain was inside. She looked out the window and could only see the snowflakes dancing and wickedly swirling through the ink dark sky.

The bathtub had been taken and filled in her emptied bedroom for once, and she had asked to be left alone.

 

The door creaked as a handmaiden she had never seen before entered the room, a pitcher of hot water in her hands. She heard her limp as she made her way to the bathtub, her heavy boots disturbed the silence, before being replaced by the sound of the splash. She delicately poured the burning liquid in, as if reviving the flames of a fire. The sensation of sudden warm water sent shivers though Arya's whole frame at first, but quickly turned her skin pink as she relished the pleasure of heat. She closed her eyes to take in the scent of soap that had remained around her, as if encircling her, lulling her.

 

“Anything else…m'lady?”, the young lady asked, their eyes not meeting.

 

She dismissed her with a wave of her hand.

She made three steps, dragging her left foot before Arya's arm quickly moved out of the water and caught her sleeve, dragging her fragile frame, forcing her to stumble and fall to her knees. Their faces were only inches apart. The young lassie growled as she had to rest on her injured leg. Arya's other hand sprung out of the bath to land a hard slap on her cheek, droplets of water flying and clashing against the tiles. But the girl who was not a girl caught her hand before it could touch the fair skin of the face that was not his.

 

_Not a tilt. Not a twitch. Not a blink._

_Of course, he had long seconds to expect the blow_

 

“Just how many times do you think you can fool me, Jaqen H'ghar?”, she spat out with all the hatred she could gather, despite the urge to kiss his damnable face and hug him tight and shout at him for all of this insanity.

 

Despite the foreign face, the delicate features, the long and thin strands of light hair, his look was the same. Sleepy, looking at her through his lids, a glimpse of mysteriousness taunting her, awakening some strange stir in her stomach. She could recognize this look anywhere, at any moment, whatever face he would be wearing. But something was missing, something was off.

 

“When did you plan on coming to talk to me?”, she said sharply, taking the mask off his face.

 

She let the peeled off flesh of the maiden fall to the drenched tiles, heard the sound of the heavy cloak hitting the ground, watched his body morph from the one of a young and skinny girl to Jaqen H'ghar's tall and lean frame underneath the still oversized chemise.

 

She nearly gasped at the sight of his slightly sunken cheeks, reddened eyes, at the look that was in them. It was so, so deeply wrong.

 

Despair, sorrow, a tiny gleam of dim light was shining very far, too far in his gaze, and he was clenching his teeth as a sharp sigh escaped his nose. Arya was not sure how it made her feel, it was like this emotion in his golden gaze was strangling her, and all she could feel was profound guilt and empathy. Never, ever, in all the years she had spent with him, had she seen even the shadow of this expression on his face, and it strongly stirred in her chest, she felt the tears well up in her eyes again. But no, she would not cry. She had cried too much. She gulped down loudly, regained her composed and blank face.

 

She studied his face more during the silence, her eyes lingered on the lips she had once kissed, the features she had once studied meticulously to be able to forge herself a picture of him in her mind forever.

 

She discovered the golden hooded eyes again, the brows that for once were not raised in irony, the thick and wavy strands of his shoulder length, red and white hair, and she could not help but run a hand through the thick strands, she inwardly wished it would soothe him, make this awful look disappear, from him but also from her.

 

She let her hand retrieve the side of the wooden tub. She remembered that she hated him.

 

“I should have let you burn.”, she outed.

 

His stare grew severe. The aura changed, she knew her statement disappointed him, but she wanted a reaction from him.

 

“Do you take me for an idiot?”, she hissed in pure spite.

 

She could not stand this look, this blankness, this emptiness of emotions he learned to master by the faceless men. She was so, so very sick of it. She would hurt him with her biting words if need be, or slap him over and over, or just throw insults at him through clenched teeth, anything, **anything** , just to wake up the man she missed, who had fallen asleep underneath the cloak of the faceless.

 

“You thought I would not understand why you so suddenly talk about serving your God and shit before leaving for a suicidal raid?”, she spat at him, feeling her eyes water and silently cursing as images of that night rushed in her head.

 

_The look on the maid's face_

_His back turned to me_

“ _What did a girl think she was to a man?”_

 

There was silence again, for what felt like an eternity. The time they both needed to constrain their tears and anger and accursed feelings before they would commence their first conversation since this evening.

 

She felt ridiculous. All of this was ridiculous. This had never happened before, a man making her cry, someone having so much impact on her. Only him, and she cursed repeatedly for she was too attached to him, too obsessed. When she thought about it, she had let no one else make her sweep floors or beat her up with a stick or send some psycho killer bitch after her. And she had forgiven him. Actually, she had never blamed him.

 

When he had his back turned to her and she had the cutthroat at her hip, daring her to do take his life, she just _could not_. She was simply and incomprehensibly unable to do it, just as she had been unable to kill him three years prior in Braavos. She had Needle pressed against his heart, yet she could not find the force to push it through his flesh. She did not even know back then that he had let her kill the Waif, that he knew she would win the fight. He had let her toy with his life again, and then he had let her go, let her slip from his hands like water. Then, he ran after her, even if he knew she would hate him. How fucked-up is this? How mad were they both already?

 

All this because of this strange atmosphere between them, which they both craved beyond understanding. Obsession and passion, danger and safety, concepts that do not go together, feelings that are completely contradictory, yet real and sturdily impregnated in their very core, summoned in the presence of the other and chaotically addicting. This feeling would be the end of them both, it already had been.

 

Truth was, Jaqen had never felt his heart beat so strongly before that evening in the Hall of Faces. And not because of her steel pressed to his chest, dallying with his worthless life, but because of her, because of who she was, and her ability to find _someone_ in him too, someone he thought was long lost and would never be found again. She could have killed him, but instead she did the exact opposite and breathed life again in his empty being.

 

And he chose to let her go. Because she was the most precious thing that had ever gotten so close to him, and she deserved better than this, and she never would have peacefully surrendered to her fate if she had married her friend while thinking about all the things they could have had. And she knew it, she knew all of this. She had just realized it too late, and it had felt like a thousand deaths. Neither of them fought in this situation, they just limited the damages, even if it had killed them inside. And it was _luck_ , that the Red Woman had decided to show up, to free her from this betrothal. It was crazy luck and bloody magic.

 

But such luck, Arya knew how precious and rare it was. It would never happen again should they find themselves apart once more, the Gods are not this merciful. Therefore they had to hold onto each other, and even if she hated herself for it, she was too afraid of loosing him again, she may as well grab a dragonglass dagger and try to defeat two hundred thousand whites all by herself rather than deal with her inner pain again. And she wanted him to understand this.

 

“Jaqen… what the hell were you thinking? That I would be happy like that?”, she said shaking her head and uncontrollably curling her nose, as if she did not even consider the words she was uttering.

 

“Did you just want to get rid of me?”, she said, her voice cracking, but she did not care.

 

_Let him hear_

_Let him hear how badly he broke me_

 

“And now you come spy on me while I'm bathing?! What? One whore is not enough?!”, she threw in his pretty, decomposed face.

 

Truthfully, Arya could not care less if he had been with a thousand other women before.

 

“This girl knows. She knows why a man did this. He came now…to make sure that it was really you, that you were really here and safe.”

 

She looked away, like a child who is being admonished and refuses to admit the truth. Of course she knew. She could not even hate him for it. It was ridiculous. He had hurt her and it only had made her long for him more. She did not understand yet somehow she knew it made perfect sense. And she cursed, she cursed because she could not control these intense feelings, she could not block them like she had done when she was a young orphan and traversed a tumultuous sea of emotions.

 

How could she not love him, despite all of this? She knew that he had been hurt as much as her, she knew she was precious to him, why would he have left the guild otherwise? It was his home, his everything, yet a flicker of a lovely girl in his life and there, it did not matter the slightest bit anymore.

 

He had followed her blindly, not even knowing why, he had let himself be drawn to her by her sweet scent of winter and arrogance, by the unspoken promises of whatever future he could forge himself with her. And yet he had made her hate him, hoped that she would forget about him, because it was the only thing he could do to protect her, it was the only way he could help her. And then he had been ready to sacrifice his own life rather than live a life in which he meant nothing to her.

 

“Why did you go away this morning? You knew I was coming-”

 

“This man did not want you to see him like that.”, he said staring into her stormy eyes, like he wanted to invade her very soul through her gray irises, soothe her inner wounds.

 

He did not want her to see him this weak, wounded, for to her he must be strength, safety, a shelter to draw courage from, but how could she trust him again once she sees how… _shatterable_ he truly is?

 

Her hand found his cheek again, and he closed his eyes to relish the touch he had yearned for, dreamed about, and that had tortured him through mutilating memories and broken dreams every single of his waking and sleeping hours.

 

_Jaqen H'ghar…_

_You have built me up again when I was demolished_

_But this goes both ways, it cannot be only you rebuilding me all the time…_

_When one shatters, the other reassembles_ , she spoke through her eyes and healing caresses on his cheek.

 

_Seven Hells_

_The real Arya would have burst in laughs had she seen me crawl back to him so miserably_

 

Their gazes locked again, his golden eyes sending sparks through her.

 

“This man, he dare not ask for forgiveness, Arya Stark. He had to what he did. Please, lovely girl, this man, he-”, he cursed in his head, and for once, his expression was clear.

 

“I need you to tell me what to do to make you hate me just a tiny bit less, even if it takes years, or centuries, I don't care…”, he spoke, and his speech woke something in her.

 

_The first person speech_

_The disdain of selflessness, acknowledgment of the other and of the being_

_The acknowledgment of feelings_

 

She had to close her eyes and bite her lower lip to rescue herself from the wave of overwhelming emotions she was unable to name for there was just too many at the same time.

 

The scene felt absurd. He was apologizing for protecting her from him and this fierce, undisciplined and obsessing feeling. Love, lust, mad passion, whatever anyone would want to call it, it was just too powerful to be denied, even when they were miles away, promised to a future apart. And when they were together, there was this safety, this sense of home, it was too deep and instinctive to ignore or let go of it.

 

She raised her chin, she knew every expression was readable on her face, and she allowed it. He knew her, he knew what she was feeling anyway, hiding her emotions had no purpose. But on his face, there was this usual tantalizing mystery, something she would never unravel no matter how attracted she was to it, no matter how many times she would try to. Like the light that attracts moths to the deadly fire, she was pulled from reality by him, by his eternal riddles and motives she would never fully comprehend, by his dark and enticing promises, by his absorbing touch, setting every inch of her skin aflame and driving every thought of hers to that toxic and shady abyss, the realm of carnal desire and lust and insatiable passion.

 

There were no words to describe how awake and alive and yet as if in another world she felt when she was with him. A world where only he and she existed, where time stopped and air stilled, a world where he would drag her through misty forests before the crack of dawn, whispering her cherished endearment over and over again, with snow crackling under their feet and crystal like drops of rain dancing in the fading moonlight.

 

She shook her head slightly, as if regaining her senses, and the storm raged on.

 

“Wh-what in the seven hells were you thinking!? Jaqen!! You thought I really would not figure out?! And then you-, you just left to meet with a fucking army of white walkers all by yourself!-”, she was clenching at his sleeve, almost out of breath, hitting his shoulders and sending droplets of water all around, just loosing herself in a vortex of thoughts she was uttering out loud, quite loud.

 

But she did not care if she would wake the whole castle, she wanted him to hear, to react, she would not let him vanish this time.

 

“Arya Stark-”, he tried.

 

“How-, just- how do you think I would have survived should you have- fuck!-”

 

“I love you”

 

The ravaging wind died in her chest. Her eyes met his, and something in her dropped. Heavily.

His voice was deep, raw. His statement, clear. The most explicit, the simplest he had ever outed.

 

And yet, the most powerful. In one nanosecond, she felt like she had reached the farthest star, plunged into the deepest void and come back, utterly confused and her mind totally clear at the same time. The storm within her had stopped during a blink of an eye, just to launch again a hundred, a thousand times more devastating, unforgiving.

 

_'I love you'_

 

For a second she asked herself if her mind did not just make that up.

 

The air stiffed around them, and silence filled the room again. There was only the soft waves of the water, the steam that rose from it, the dancing flames of the candles above the chimney, making his skin glow and her eyes shine.

 

It was unbelievable how words, how three damnable words could have such an impact, how mere syllables in his mouth could melt the ice of her heart, mend the wounds of her very spirit. And she knew how ridiculous it was, she would never have believed that she could have felt like that because of some accursed _romanticism._

 

These particular words were to handle with care, to not utter too much like in the songs or else they would lose their meaning. They were to cherish, to keep in the corner of one's mind, to reach only when one has forgotten what the melody of it was. Then, they would brush the dust off it, to see it shine a thousand times brighter than before and cherish it even more.

 

“I may sound stupid, but you need to know, a girl needs to hear it.”

 

She took another few seconds to process.

 

_'I love you'_

 

Was he lying? Was it truth? She cursed, he sounded so honest.

 

_He could not be lying right? Not about this?_

 

_Damn it_

 

_What is love even? Attraction, sensation of shelter, yearn? All of those?_

_Fuck, I don't know, yet I am sure this is what I am feeling right now_

 

_How can I not know and be sure?_

_Damn it! How can something immaterial, a mere concept be so darn complicated and vague?!_

 

_Yet I am sure_

_I am sure that I love you too_

 

“Jaqen…”, she said almost in a whisper, resting her temple against his. And for once she did not care about how ridiculous she sounded, the voices in her head all fell silent. Every facet of her personality, every droplet of her being agreed with her ensuing statement.

 

“I love you too.”

 

It was like the whole world had stilled around them. The wind, the fire, the water, nothing moved. All were witnessing as she lightly pressed her lips on the side of his, ginger and cloves tickling her nostrils. A light kiss, pacifying, fixing.

 

She had almost forgotten how good it felt.

 

The sound of his exhale, his closed eyes, the spiky feel of his cheek. She felt his lips ghosting around her face, heard him inhale the scent of her hair before a shiver ran through her at the hot air brushing next to her ear.

 

“This man, he should not have let you go…”, he said in a haunted voice.

 

Her face was in his hands, his thumbs caressing delicately like she was precious porcelain, soothing the cracks he had created to prevent her from breaking. His touch was familiar, she had craved it, dreamed about it every night and every day, and her skin immediately felt at ease underneath his warm fingers, as if her body responded physically too to him mending her inner wounds.

 

“He should have stolen you, hidden you from them, all of them, kept you for himself…”

 

The idea made her smile. Oh yes, they were both utterly mad.

 

“You are freezing, lovely girl.”, he purred as she ran her cold fingers in his hair, his eyes meeting the crystal like studs that were out of the bath for a fraction of a second.

 

“Come in with me, the water's warm.”, she quickly said leaning back in the tub, not really thinking before speaking, but she did not care.

 

She wrapped both her hands around his neck and dragged him gently. He did not resist, moved forward as if under a strange and enchanting spell. He got quickly rid of his boots and slid in the water effortlessly, keeping the rest of his clothes on, settled her on his chest and damn it- she remembered that _this_ was what it felt like to be in his arms… Their entwined bodies were like wrapped in a blanket of steam and water, she felt the heat of his skin even through the layer of drenched cloth.

 

He pulled her to him, trapped her in his powerful embrace, the only place where she really felt safe, and she let out a sigh, and it felt like she finally let go of the stifling air that had been trapped in her lungs since that last evening in Winterfell before her departure. She was home, figuratively and literally.

 

The candles were burnt down half of the way when she broke the silence.

 

“Tell me something.”

 

“Hmm?”, he murmured, looking down at her round and tired eyes, in which the water was reflecting. He did not suppress the urge of putting a light kiss on her hair.

 

“Tell me the story of Jaqen H'ghar. You know mine, you know why I wanted to become no one, you know why I could not. Tell me how Jaqen H'ghar became no one.”, she said, shifting to suppress the numbness in her muscles, the sound of soft waves like music accompanying her words.

 

“He did not.”, he said, toying with strands of her wet now long hair, which covered her from her shoulders to the middle of her spine in a silky dark and wavy cloak when she ducked her head up.

“Just like you, a man always kept Jaqen H'ghar in a small corner of his mind, even if he took the faces and the stories of others. Moreover, it is a rather unpleasant story, this man fears, lovely girl.”

 

“It's yours.”, she insisted.

“I want to know.”

 

He smiled. Her trip to King's Landing had not changed her the slightest bit, she was still as stubborn as before.

 

“Well,”, he cleared his voice, and the growl was so deep and intense it sent shivers down her spine.

 

She had tried to ask before, she knew from Harrenhal that his father was dead, and at a dinner once, he had let the fact that his mother was a spinner slip out of his mouth. She knew from his strange way of speaking that he must be some kind of noble, for only Lorathi nobles still use the third person speech pattern, but she never asked further about it.

 

“This man he was born in the free city of Lorath. His mother used to spin yearn for a living, and his father belonged to the few noble houses.”

 

He was drawing circles with his thumb on the small of her back.

 

“They loved each other a lot, too much, maybe. But they kept their love a secret, as this man's father was promised to woman of a wealthier house. So when a boy was born, he took his mother's name, H'ghar. His mother's father threw her out of the family home when he learned that she was with child, treated her of a whore because she refused to say who the child's father was. When the boy grew older, his mother had to dye his hair red, like hers, for the white hair was the color of his father's. But she always left one streak of it's true color, for the boy would not forget whose son he was, and a man is not sure why, but the hair remained this color and never came back to white. Despite not having his name and hiding the hair he inherited, the boy's father still raised him as he would a true-born son, taught him the proper way to talk, taught him courtesy, selflessness, even poetry and stories about the old mazes of Lorath. He made sure that the boy and his mother always had everything they needed.”

 

“Why didn't he flee with the woman he loved and their child?”, she asked, running a hand through the red hair that passed down his shoulders now.

 

“This man's father had given his word, before he met his mother. Vows are vows, a man's father was an honorable man. He had promised his own father that their name would not be forgotten. But a bastard could never further the line. The day he had to marry the daughter of the wealthy merchant came, and he did as he was expected. But the wife was jealous, she knew he loved another. She knew her name, he must have called it one night.”

 

He marked a stop. Breathed in.

 

“The wife hired a Faceless man to kill the woman she begrudged and her husband's son.

This man can remember exactly, he was a boy of eight when it happened. He had wandered all day in the old and mossy mazes of the lorathi bay, had recited the verses his father had read to him a few days prior. It was their deal, always. He would promise the boy to come back for a visit when he knew the verses by heart and could recite them as flawlessly as he did himself.”

 

His smile grew sad, and Arya felt awful about demanding him to recount her this story. But curiosity had been stronger. She wanted to know him as well as he knew her.

 

“This boy he had seen blood before, but never his mother's. As the old man holding the knife asked him who he was, he answered another name than the one he was given. He said he had no last name, that he was an orphan. At that the elderly man gave him an iron coin, told him his father had been stabbed by the woman after telling her he could never love her, made him repeat the words _Valar Morghulis_.”

 

“But why didn't he kill you?”, she asked, her voice that of a child, making him smirk. This arrogant smirk she missed so much, and she bit her lip.

 

“The God took his due himself, lovely girl. The wife birthed a stillborn child a few moons later. The faceless man a girl used to call 'Kindly man' took the boy to Braavos, and a girl knows what happened to him next.”

 

She smiled.

 

“I have to say I hardly imagine a man sweeping floors.”, she said, tracing the line of his square jaw, feeling the beard he had not shaven.

 

He chuckled. A rich and seductive chuckle that jolted something in her head, a sparkle of life, like the first mesmerizing flower of spring.

 

_Damn it_ , she cursed, biting her lip again. She had ceased counting how many times she had done it, for it would only make her feel more ridiculous.

 

“And even less recite verses.”, she said, shaking her head while smiling and trying to imagine him as a young boy.

 

“Would a girl like that?”, he said, tightening his grip on her, fearing that she might vanish, or dissolve and run through his fingers like water.

 

She burst into laughs, but he was not surprised.

 

_Damn, it feels good to laugh_

 

“ _A girl_ might appreciate watching you sweep the floor better. All that whining in honeyed words and over sentimental mush…”, she answered, her eyes sparkling in amusement for she was laughing for the first time in what felt like forever.

 

“You never heard good poetry, old lorathi poetry.”, he responded, sure of himself.

 

She sighed, amused, shook her head for he looked very confident.

 

“Well, go on, if you insist. Uh- but you will be to blame if I fall asleep in the midst of it.”, she said rolling her eyes.

 

He dragged her gently, nestled her head in his neck, the spot she preferred, he knew, and he slowly hummed in her ear, his hot breath tickling her soft skin.

 

_Time flows and cuts like glass_

_I await_

_I shall until you lift me from the prolix grass_

 

_Let our hearts mend our wounds_

_Let us go where the sea meets the sky_

_Let the sun graze our cheeks_

_And let the winds allow us to fly_

 

_Let our minds dance in the boundless fields_

_Breeze fiddling with our hair, passion raining in beads_

_Let the scent of madness drag us to that hole_

_Let the fever of the flame consume us whole_

 

_And when the taste of fervor feels dull on your lips_

_Take me back_

_Where the butterfly shall lull me with a last kiss_

 

The words did something to her. She was not sure what, she was not sure how, she was not sure if it was the words or the mere sound of his voice, but she had closed her eyes to relish his melodious tone, the way he outed every word like he was making love to her with each syllable.

 

“It's not the worst I've ever heard.”, she managed to say after long minutes of struggle to keep herself from being overwhelmed by the desire he had awaken. His touch and her naked body resting on his did nothing to help in her inquiry for sanity. She heard him chortle, knew he was feeling triumphant.

 

_Maybe I became soft_

_But of course, when that sweet Lorathi purr of yours does all of the job, you could read me the account of the castle's inventory and I would still melt like a candle in the sun_

 

They stayed there for a little while, just holding each other, relishing the other's presence. After some time, when the water had gone almost cold, she pressed a kiss on his lips, glided out, felt his consuming gaze on her naked back as she put on a white linen robe. She turned to see him, tying the knot on her waist, watched him raise from the tub, water cascading all the way down, his muscled frame hidden by his clothes. He stumbled because of his wounded leg. She heard the sloppy sound of his chemise colliding to the ground nearby the fireplace. She saw the bottom of his scar on his foot, the scar he had gotten on his journey North, on this accursed and stupid suicidal raid. It still looked nasty and fresh, despite being healing for more than weeks now. It pained her to see him injured, it looked so wrong, a wound on his perfect body.

 

She went to the commode holding her clothes, and opened a drawer. The sound of weighty wood and jiggling glass vials filled the room for an instant. She took out a vial of creamy unguent and some linen scraps.

 

“Let me take care of that.”, she said approaching him, directing him with her eyes until the back of his legs hit the bed. His gaze had not left her, following her every move like a shadow. A glimpse of arrogance in his eyes, a lifting corner of his mouth, the fresh whiff of ginger and cloves clinging to her freshly cleaned and soft skin, everything she needed to lose control of her own thoughts.

 

She gently put the things she had just gathered on the bedside table, untied the drenched trousers with assurance, let them fall to the ground with a heavy sound.

 

“Sit down”, she ordered. He obeyed, fell gracefully on the blankets, mattress humming under his weight.

 

The scar looked bad. Really bad. Dirty pink and an awful red, blue and yellow bruises and even dark patches on his tanned skin that normally looked so soft and strong and golden and kissable.

 

_Wrong, so wrong_

 

She had seen wounds before. It was a wonder he could still walk. His ankle had clearly been crushed, and the long and deep cut ran all the way to his hip. She could not help but hover her hand over it, and could not hide the surprised expression on her face. She knew he had been injured pretty bad, but the scar in front of her must have felt worse than anything she could ever imagine. He would keep a trace all his life.

 

She put the dense cream on two of her fingers, knelt, massaged his ankle first, slowly made her way up to his knee, swathed. His skin was still warm from the bath. He smelled like the usual ginger and cloves, but with a touch of fresh, a touch of snowy scent, her scent. Her fingers felt sure, she cared about not putting too much pressure on. She felt herself blush when she moved to massage his upper leg.

 

_For fuck's sake Arya Stark_

_Get yourself together_

 

“A girl keeps these supplies in her own room?”, he asked, the deepness of his voice almost making her wince.

 

“A girl treats her wounds herself, she doesn't like being touched all over.”, she responded naturally, thinking a blink of an eye too late.

 

“Ah, really?”, he purred ironically.

 

She closed her eyes as she let out a sigh. Of course she saw that coming. Of course, that rule did not apply to him.

 

_Of course you were not included in that statement you merciless teaser_

 

“A girl can see a man does not either. If he had let a maester stitch it, it would be almost healed already.”, she ignored his raised brow, his arrogant smirk.

 

Just when she was done bandaging the upper part of his leg, she realized how close her head was to his bulge underneath his breeches. His manhood was raised and hard just for the faint touches of her fingers on his heated skin. The thought of her nursing him drove him absolutely crazy, and she was strangely pleased to see what effect she had on him.

 

She looked up at him, and there was no arrogance left in his eyes. She could only see her own reflection in the gleaming golden irises, and the sparkling, growing flame of want for _her_ , not just her body but all of her, the fierce and brave, the broken and in love, the arrogant and caring. His gaze, his hardness, it oddly satisfied her, she felt a stir in her stomach.

 

_Want_

_Power_

 

She was the cause of it all.

 

“Lovely girl-”

 

She raised her chin, pressed a kiss on his lips to hush him.

 

“A lovely girl takes care of you.”, she hummed, looking at him through lidded eyes.

 

She let her hands linger on his thighs for a moment, before moving to untie the still wet knots of his breeches. His shaft sprung out upright as if she had just released a wicked beast from its cage. Her eyes widened for half a second at the sight. He was bigger than she imagined.

 

She ran her pale fingers from the bottom to the top, following the line of the vein on the rock-hard organ that throbbed underneath her touch, heard him release air trapped in his lungs as she reached the tip and circled around it, feeling the first drops of warm liquid.

 

It felt way different than she had expected. Hot, hard like a bar of steel. He shifted slightly and she felt her cheeks burn as she wrapped her hand around him. She did not know how tight she had to hold it in order to please him, cursed in her head because she felt so inexperienced and foolish.

 

But the groan she heard when she glided from North to South did not sound like a groan of pain at all, so she went on, a little faster, and she found the right pace to please him. She looked up at him. He was so intense, so male and hard, it jolted everything feminine in her, sent sparks of madness through their wanting bodies, like invisible strings tying them together the longer his maddening gaze locked with her playful glare. She propped up on her knees, circled her wet tongue around the pink tip of him.

 

He breathed out sharply.

 

He took a grab of her damp hair, strong fingers wrapped around her head as she pushed down, felt him fill her mouth and took him in then out, his exhales coming more intensively and uncontrollably. And she went on, careful about her teeth, wrapping her hand where she could not take him in, hollowing her cheeks around his hard and hot member, breathy sounds of want escaping her throat and his, until she felt him throb around her lips, until she tasted the sticky, minty and sweet juice and felt it run down the side of her mouth.

 

With a brush of a thumb, he wiped the fluid off her pink lips. Oh- how lovely indeed she looked, with her messy hair and flushed cheeks, that gleam of life back in her eyes.

 

Had it been any other night, Arya Stark would have devoured Jaqen H'ghar, she would have pushed him on that small bed, forced him to lie down on the squeaking mattress, then rode him passionately North and South until the break of dawn, until only the sound of their moans and screams would have woken up and scandalized every single person in Winterfell, including the ones sleeping in the crypts.

 

But right now, Arya was exhausted, physically and mentally, and all she wanted to do was crawl up under the furs with him and finally fall peacefully into slumber while he cradles her in his strong arms, because she had longed for such a quiet and sure night for too long.

 

And so they did, without exchanging a word, he nestled her in his embrace, and oh, how good it felt to finally feel safe again in his warm, ginger and cloves scented lock. She held him tight too, and damn, there was no letting go this time, the Night King himself could rush upon them and not find the strength to pull them apart. It took her no two seconds before her breathing became more regular, before sleep came to steal her enamored thoughts, and for the first time since that dreadful night, Arya Stark was carried to the realms of dreams peacefully.

 

No torturing nightmares, no blurry eyes and bathed cheeks and feeling of emptiness this time.

 

And before Jaqen H'ghar fell into slumber too, her gently kissed her fresh and damp hair, bit his lower lip to make sure that he was not dreaming.

 

“My lovely girl…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, there we go!  
> Tell me in the comments if you liked this chapter, I know a lot of you were looking forward to the Jaqarya reunion ;)
> 
> ALSO, the first chapter of my original story is out in the wild, it's my very first original project so it's amateur but I would be thrilled if you took the time to check it out, it's called 'Arcano and the Four Lands' (for now) :D
> 
> Artist's instagram: @emmney.art


	22. Songs of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :)
> 
> This chapter took longer than usual, I apologize for that. I just needed to get away from this fic for a little while, and look at it again with a fresh eye ;) So, a month and two new works later, here we are again (check them out if you'd like, Modern AU: A Face is just a Mask, Original work: Arcano and the Four Lands)
> 
> Tell me what you think in the comments!

 

The day was awaking. Despite the sudden rise of temperature they had been experiencing since the prior day, the night had still been damp and cold on the camp, and the brisk wind of the first hours of the day was like daggers slicing through the air and through the skin. When there was a particularly strong gust, it felt like the furs had vanished, as if he were standing there naked shivering erratically like a frightened lamb, just waiting to be devoured by the beast-like predator that the northern cold was. It was a vicious cold, one that soaked in him to the bone and extracted to the very last drop of warmth. He crossed the alleys made of mingled snow and mud, hard toes crashing in his shoes like they were about the fall from his feet. He clenched his teeth and pressed on, thinking about the long summer evenings spent savoring fruits and soft wine in the South, and wished he had relished the mild warmth and smoothness of the air more back then.

 

The last of the southern soldiers, from Dorne and Essos and the capital would arrive in a few days. He just hoped they would at least make it the first day of battle before collapsing to the frozen ground. The snow crunched under his boots as he walked towards the east side of the camp until he reached the tent.

 

“Brienne?”

 

His own voice surprised him. It was raspy because of the early hour, but also unsure as if he were a child asking for his parent's approbation again. He hoped she was not sleeping, it was very early but this would be their last chance to see each other before the Great Battle, probably their last encounter before their deaths. He had been charged of leading the west wing of the camp, when she had been named commandant of the east wing.

 

When they were informed of their positions back in Winterfell, he had been truly disheartened. They would not share the same battlefield, that meant she could get crushed under the horde of undead without him even knowing before days, or that he would not get to watch her face when he would share his last breath with the world. 

 

He had wished he could have had a chance of watching her fighting, and possibly defend her against the White walkers if need be (the valorous Knight that still persisted in him had whispered this idea, even though he knew she would have spat at his attempt to rescue her, she was not one to be defended). But if he wanted to be true to himself, watching her fight would have probably been too much of a distraction, he would have lost his head in seconds, so it was surely for the best.

 

But still, when he saw the curtain of her tent move and watched her uneven face appear, he could not help but feel his proud mask slip away at the thought that this might be the last time he would see her.

 

They just stared. For the first few seconds it was awkward, but then he drowned in her eyes and nothing else existed. Not the biting cold, not the hushed snores of the soldiers, not even the words he had repeated in his head for hours before gathering the courage to come here.

 

He would have mumbled nonsense had he opened his mouth. Luckily she did not ask any question. He saw her shiver when the breeze invaded the tent through the open entrance, she was only wearing some dirty and unrefined pieces of men's clothing, surely the first thing that she had managed to grab and put on her night's clothes when she heard her name being called from outside. She must have had recognized his voice though, for some blush had appeared on her face before she pulled the curtain to discover her early visitor.

 

“I-I'm sorry”, he mumbled before walking away, suddenly too shy to tell her why he had come. That was very unlike him, this shyness. He had never been shy before. Brave, stupid, lame, but never shy.

 

“Don't leave.”, she held him back.

 

Their eyes met, and the air changed. It tasted like there was a hint of hope in it now.

 

“Please, Jaime.”

 

He held onto the grip of Widow's Wail, dangling at his waist. Water Blade, he had secretly renamed the Valyrian Steel sword. Water for the sea, the sea around the island of Tarth, so blue it could have made the sky jealous. That sea was in her eyes, her eyes could have made any man fall for her and any woman envious of her, had they all taken the time to look at her. But none had, only him, and her care and love were like a treasure he kept for himself, a little sapphire he kept hidden in his pocket, even though he knew she would not like such a comparison.

 

Unconsciously, she mimicked him, and put her gloved hand on the lion on the hilt of Oathbreaker.

He had never been anxious about talking to a woman, but at this precise moment, no word found it's way out of him. He had never been gifted with eloquence like his younger brother but he had never imagined freezing like that either. He did not know what to do, what she would like to hear or not hear, he felt suddenly very out of control.

 

So he plunged forward until his lips were on hers and prayed that she would not push him away.

 

*

 

Light snowflakes were falling from the gray sky, coating Winterfell with a slight veil of purity, hiding the muddy ground and the dirty alleys. It was a calm morning, almost everyone was gone. The children had said farewell to their fathers and brothers, and to their mother and sisters for some, the lovers had wept before separating, the soldiers had drank a last cup of mead with their companions before traveling further North.

 

The younger babes whose parents had decided to fight had been given to the wet nurses who had volunteered. Old women, too old to even hold a spear, and some girls who had given birth only recently.

 

Dany walked towards the nursery. She had a hand placed on her round belly as she strode. The little dragon inside was quiet today, still not seemingly hurried to meet with his parents face to face. But she was not upset. There was still a lot she could learn about giving birth and raising a child before he decided to come.

 

She entered the quiet room. A few of the wet nurses bowed at the Queen, she returned them a smile and looked tenderly at the children. She could hear the mumbling of the playing babes, the cries of some newborns. Her eyes lingered on one, not much bigger than the baby dragon Jon had brought back from the South, his skin still red and his eyes still dark and only partly open. He must have been born only a few weeks ago. It pained her to see the tiny one in the arms of that old nurse, who explained her that the mother of the poor thing had ripped him away from her teat to go carry the banner of the living on the battlefield.

 

“It is hard to change a Northerner's mind, your grace, even regarding such decisions…”

 

A corner of her mouth lifted. Yes, she had noticed how stubborn Northerners were indeed. She herself was not authorized to go into battle, and she had never thought she would have allowed someone to give her orders again after Viserys' demise.

 

She wanted to ask for some advice to the old woman, who seemed wise, but she figured she had probably given birth before Dany's own mother was born, thus would not remember in much details, and she wanted to be as prepared as anyone could be.

 

She looked around the room, searched for someone who could advise her. Most of the young women here were tavern girls who did not look a day older than fourteen, and a lot of them seemed like they were still recovering from their delivery. And then she recognized one of them.

 

“Oh- your grace…”, the girl bowed when she approached, she smiled in response.

 

“You are Gilly, am I right? Samwell Tarly's companion.”

 

“His…betrothed, your grace.”, she said slightly blushing, obviously proud, Daenerys saw the gleam form in her eyes.

 

She had heard about Samwell Tarly, Jon's friend at the Night's Watch. He had described him as a just and kind man, the most intelligent man he had ever met. She had also heard Gilly's story, and her son's.

 

“Is there anything I can do for you?”, she asked, impressed to be talking to the silver haired woman. It always felt strange for Dany when people seemed to be intimidated to speak with her, she often asked herself if she would ever get used to this.

 

“Yes.”, Dany answered, sitting on a cushioned chair and stretching a bit to suppress the ache in her back.

“As you can see, I am about to give birth, but I happen to know more about dragons than about childbirth and education.”, she said, using humor for the girl to ease and open up to her, and to make her forget about the fact that she was addressing to the Queen but rather to another mother to be.

“Unfortunately my mother did not have a chance to pass down this knowledge to me, I am looking for someone who would be honest with me.”

 

The girl with brown hair shifted a bit in her seat, threw a glance at her young son, who was playing with a few other children.

 

“I was told that it is different for every woman, your grace, but…it will hurt. What comes afterward makes it up for the pain but…it hurts, it takes a little death to make life.”

 

Despite the girl's background as an illiterate wildling, Dany was gladly surprised to hear how well she spoke. She knew she had traveled to the Citadel and grown an interest in books, like her beloved, but she had expected her to still sound a bit naive, or not make a right use of some words she had seen or heard on her way, but the Queen happened to be very impressed at the girl's eloquence when she described her what kind of pain she would go through. At first she could see that Gilly was afraid of scaring her off by her use of the just and crude words, but she quickly understood that the Queen was receptive and went on.

 

“As for education… I guess it is up to you to decide what is right and what is wrong, based on what you have learned observing others.”

 

“I heard young children sleep very little and are often given to wet nurses…I could not imagine giving my little one to another woman, and you have managed it on your own, do you have any piece of advice I could use on that?”, the Queen asked, a bit ashamed to share her ignorance on such a subject but she trusted the girl to not spread vile words about her.

 

Gilly smiled gently, she had never imagined teaching a woman of such great influence and power about anything.

 

“The first nights were troublesome, I fear you will not have much choice other than waking up to feed him if you wish to do it yourself, your grace…but I have noticed that children are quite fond of hearing stories, even the mere sound of their mother's voice calms them down and makes them dream… since the time I know how to read, I have learned some stories from a book about westerosi history. My little Sam loves the story of Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa, I know it by heart now since he asks me to recite the verses almost every night…”

 

“Nissa Nissa?”, Dany frowned. She had heard stories of Westeros as a little girl, she had heard about Azor Ahai and his inflamed sword, but never of this Nissa Nissa.

 

“Yes, the wife of Azor Ahai. He forged his blade, Lightbringer, through her heart, that's why it caught on fire, your grace. Azor Ahai would have been nothing without his beloved. Sam loves this story.”, she smiled, Daenerys nodded.

 

*

 

The white light of the winter morning sun invaded the room as Arya slowly opened her eyes. This night had been the most peaceful and restful in over a moon, she felt heavy as a stone and a bit numb, she had not moved from her position in Jaqen's arms for the whole night. She was home, she reminded herself as she felt the warmth of his body against her and heard the cracking of the fire in the chimney.

 

The smooth ups and down of his chest were cradling her head still dizzy from sleep. His skin felt warm and soft, like summer against her white cheek, and the furs displayed on the big bed were like the heavy walls of a fort shielding them both from the cold. Some birds sang outside, a shy and quiet whistle to greet the far sun but to not disturb the stillness. The air was filled with the simplicity of the scene, the peace and quiet of waking up at Jaqen's side after a long night as if the future awaiting them had disappeared for an instant, and she found herself inwardly pleading that this moment lasts for a small eternity.

 

She wondered what he must look like when he was asleep. She had never seen him sleeping, she suddenly recalled. She slowly lifted her head from his chest, as silently as possible, and turned her eyes, still gleaming from her recent awakening, to him.

 

“You're creepy.”, she muffled surprised, with a voice still impregnated in sleep as her stormy eyes met his, fully open and watching her intently.

“For how long have you been staring?”, she added, a bit annoyed that she would not catch him in a state of slumber today.

 

He chuckled, and his voice warmed the room, even the cold stones of the wide and gray wall seemed to respond to his cheerfulness.

 

“Quite some time.”, he said planting a kiss on her ruffled hair that still smelled of soap and fragrance oils.

“It's almost midday.”

 

“What?! Why did you let me sleep for so long-”, she frowned and struggled to wiggle out of his hold to stand up and start the already halfway wasted day.

 

But he held her tight and prevented her from fleeing their safe and heated nest.

 

“A girl needed sleep.”, he said with a calm voice, as he settled her back on him.

“Her sister said it was fine if she slept in with all she had been dealing with lately.”

 

“Sansa came here?”

 

“The handmaidens did not dare to enter, a man thinks they fear you.”, he answered smirking. A corner of her mouth lifted too at the thought of the handmaidens being frightened by the tiny woman that she was compared to them.

“So the Lady of Winterfell came to inquire if everything was well.”

 

“And she saw…”

 

“She did not seem very surprised.”, the usual spark of amusement was back in his golden gaze.

 

Arya's cheeks reddened.

 

“She's my sister, she enjoys gushing quite a lot…I can't always escape her.”, she added unable to control the smile that slowly formed on her lips.

“Jon knows too.”, she added, not sure how to explain him how a red witch had informed the King in the North about his little sister's frolics with her essosi teacher.

 

“A man should be careful then next time he crosses paths with him.”

 

She smiled at the thought of how a conversation between her brother and her beloved would look, now that Jon knew. Probably nothing she wanted to take part in, but she surely would have enjoyed warging into a mouse just to listen at what they would say to each other. This situation may be the only one she would catch Jaqen being uncomfortable in.

 

“I'm his little sister, I will always remain seven years old in his mind I guess, there is not much I can do about it.”, she continued with a small voice that was similar to a child's, and a gentle smile formed on her lips at the thought of how protective Jon was towards her.

“It's a good thing, that he knows what I feel for you. And I haven't told him about…”, the face of the handmaiden flashed in her mind. She did her best to rule her face but he caught the change in her expression, and it felt like a slice on his throat. 

 

He held her tighter, she leaned in.

 

“Me and this woman.”, he said, his tone blank. He felt her exhale sharply, he was sure he could have spotted anger in her eyes should she be looking at him.

“We need to be able to talk about it, lovely girl, as difficult as it may be.”, he said lowering his eyes in guilt.

 

She knew it though, she held his gaze for him to regain his confidence.

 

“I know Jaqen. You wanted me to hate you. It was either sleeping with someone else or murdering a member of my family.”, the severity in her eyes died as she placed her hand against his cheek. 

 

It surprised her as much as it surprised him, but she was not taming her anger, there was just none.

 

Maybe the former Arya would have looked for a way to get her revenge after what happened, she would have exploded into a tempest of nerves and boiling emotions at the mere sight of his face. She would have struggled, but she would have done her very best to ignore him and rebuild all the pride she lost when her eyes met the satisfied gaze of the hooker maiden. Maybe she would have yelled at him and found a way to sent the woman so far away that even the strong northern wind would not be able to cast her awful scent of wildflowers upon them anymore. Then they would have played the endless game of ' _who will crack first and beg for the other to forgive them_ '. After an eternity of inner and outer conflict, one of them would have eventually pinned the other against a wall and kissed all the seven hells out of them until all of this madness would have been over.

 

They knew there was no time for their childish pride anymore, this month apart may have been the most useful lesson of their lives, so they swallowed their dignity and skipped to the part where she would be safely back in his arms, and it worked. She did not care about what it looked like. People could call her weak or blind or obsessed (which may be the case concerning the latter), but all that mattered to them was that they knew the truth behind their actions. She was at peace with herself and with what had happened, she had had a month to learn how to not care about what was not important. They were both safe and home. It would not last long and they knew it, so they both decided to not care about what had been sacrificed in order for them to enjoy these precious moments of peace.

 

“I'm glad you chose this path. And you know that I don't care if you've been with others before. Just, please, I don't want details.”, she added, a cheerful sparkle in her stormy eyes again, slightly scoffing at the last sentence.

 

He smiled at her, and the fondness in his bronze gaze made something in her tilt. She pressed her lips against his.

 

_ How nice would it be, to wake up every day of my life like this? _

 

“A man wants the details however. About what happened South.”, he said after a few seconds, his tone more formal.

 

Of course, she saw this coming. About that too, they would eventually have to discuss.

 

“What do you know?”, she asked, her voice quiet and linear to hide the fact that she was suddenly recalling Gendry's filthy eyes on her, the ridiculously dull cold of the South, her room in the Maidenvault, which looked like it was taken right out of a damnable book of Songs about fair princesses promised to valorous Kings, the horrible nights of sobbing… 

 

“Only that the bastard King was burnt.”

 

_ We are traitors _ , he r eyes wandered down.

 

*

 

“A priestess of the Red God sacrificed him.”

 

_ That explains the sudden rise of temperature. _

 

He knew why she was lowering her gaze so. She was a Stark, Starks are known for their loyalty and their sense of duty. He tried to meet her eyes, to tell her through his smile that she did the right thing. She was responsive.

 

“When?”

 

“Before the wedding.”

 

He eased a bit.

_ Good, at least she escaped the marriage bed- _ , she blinked, lowered her gaze again,  and there was this minuscule twitch of her brow that  was like a hard punch in his face and made h is expression drop. 

 

A strange aura filled  the small room now, caught a strong hold on his guts.  This may have been the most dumbfounded he ever looked.

 

He heard her curse in her head too when he took her chin to force her to look at him, and he felt the flame light everything in him when he saw how distant the usual gleam of life was in her gaze, as if something in her had broken, and all he had done was silently watching instead of rescuing her. Her look was like a sharp blow in his face, he could almost feel it sting on his cheek.

 

“He touched you?”, he whispered disheartened, but this was no question. He knew, her face had betrayed her will to hide it from him. Horrific images flashed in his mind.

 

“No.”

 

She lied terribly. Even she knew it. For a few silent seconds they just stared, she, trying and failing to pretend that she was not lying, and he, miserably attempting to keep his cool and control the raging anger, the sickening pictures that his head could not help but form despite him.

 

_ That nameless piece of shit _ ,  he trembled inside.

 

His breathing changed, he abandoned the attempt at hindering the fuming hatred. He compelled her to keep looking into his eyes despite her urge to let hers wander away. He wanted to know everything, and all she would not say with words, her expressive eyes would tell for her.

 

_ I'll find his blackened bones and shred them piece by piece- _

_ I'll spit at all the damned stag banners that still exist in this damned world- _

_ That shitty…repulsive…filthy…loath-gods damn it _

 

Even in his mind, sharpened with the knowledge of eleven different languages, he did not find a word that carried enough spite and disgust to express what he was feeling towards that revolting boy. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth as he recalled the time he found him inoffensive. Once he had even pitied him for he tried so miserably to get Arya's attention when obviously she had no interest in him. He wished he had planted a blade between his vicious pervert's eyes when he had the chance. He wished he would have found him in his smithy and wrung his neck before all of this lunacy would have had a chance to happen. He gritted his teeth, his eyes were still upon her.

 

“I… I was weak.”, were the hushed words that managed to slip from her sealed mouth.

 

He choked. He had underestimated someone, that had never happened before. The feeling of being so out of control was unbearable to him, he felt a sudden urge to hurt himself.

 

“I poisoned him before he could try anything really serious but… for a long moment before that I just…froze.”, the tears gleamed at the corner of her beautiful eyes despite her will. Tears of anger and self-disappointment, and these were like another slice in his freshly cicatrized heart.

 

“Arya”

 

He rarely used her name. He saw her flinch, she knew it implied something serious.

 

“Do not ever again call yourself weak.”, he made his voice deeper than usual, felt a shiver run through her when she heard how commanding he sounded.

 

He was not joking. She caught the seriousness in his tone, he had put his most authoritarian frown on. He was unbending, his statement as sturdy as rock, there was no point in arguing, and she knew it.

 

It was not towards Gendry that he had the most hatred for, it was towards himself.

 

_ A man is the weak one _

_ He should have traveled south and sliced this bastard's throat before he could have lain his eyes on you _

_ He should have-damn it _

 

He held her even tighter, he did not allow the smallest of space between them as if it would have been his demise. He buried his face in the warm nook between her neck and shoulder, his nose nestled in her dark locks.

 

_ You are safe now, my lovely girl _

 

*

 

The Great Hall looked empty, tension still lingered in the air as they finished up their modest meal.

Only the old ones who were sure not to last more than a few seconds during the Great battle and the ones who would travel to the Lust River on a dragon's back had remained in Winterfell. Everyone else was on their way to the battlefield, the northern and southern soldiers after a day of halt near the castle, the children who had been trained for moons now, even the stable men and most of the domestics, every single person who was still capable of holding a spear had gone to defend the Kingdoms of the Living. Only some women and very young children still swarmed around, just enough people to repopulate the North after the battle.

 

Jon looked around the family table, to the ones who counted the most for him. 

 

His Queen, only a few days away from giving birth to their child now, a gleam of seriousness in her beautiful purple irises and a slightly worried expression shadowing on her gorgeous face. 

 

Sansa, red hair contrasting against the gray and white light making it look aflame, who gawked the room as quietly as he did, blue eyes lingering a bit on the Hound who seemed to return the glance… Jon was not worried about Sandor Clegane. He knew the man, and he knew that Sansa was smart enough to decide whom to trust now, especially since the Littlefinger episode.

 

Bran, who wore his usual blank look, but with a hint of warmth in it, a tiny spark of life he wore since very recently, which reminded Jon of the child his brother once was and that the three-eyed raven managed to pull back from the stony state from time to time. His expression had become better and better with time, more humane. 

 

He had tried to explain the King in the North what had happened beyond the Wall one evening, near the fireplace. He had recounted him the story of the three eyed Raven. Jon had thought him crazy at first, but he had encountered so much madness in his life that seeing his younger brother warg into animals and experience visions of the past seemed almost normal now, as if it was what he was always meant to do.

 

His eyes traveled to Arya. She was not giving much attention to the man next to her- her 'beloved', like the red witch had called him ( _Ugh, really?_ Jon wondered again as he shivered at the thought for what must have been the hundredth time)-, but they never showed off much in public, Jon would only catch a mere glance at times, and that was more than enough for him to see. 

 

He watched her solemn face, the true face of an untamable, restless daughter of the North. She had something to her, something deeply charming, a hint of boldness strangely alluring, even as her brother he could not deny it. And what a temper she had, this need for freedom and tomboyish mindlessness she had deeply impregnated in her core, mixed up with this tenderness one could read in her eyes at times… She had surely enslaved the hearts of many without her knowing. He could not say he was afraid for her about this man either, he just cared, for he knew she sometimes got carried away by her emotions. And he did not know much about him, which made him even more protective than usual.

 

_ His name is Jaqen H'ghar _

_ He is lorathi, he was her teacher in Braavos _

_ He is a skilled assassin _

 

And that was pretty much everything he knew. Curiosity fretted him, he pondered for a few instants if he should maybe stay out of it and far from him. She was ten and seven after all, almost ten and eight, she was a grown woman and had gone through enough to know what was good for her and what was not. And he did not need to know more about the man she had decided to share her bed with, it regarded him very little. But still, curiosity and the will to protect her had been stronger, and he decided to interrogate him nonetheless.

 

“Lord H'ghar?”, he captured his attention before he got a chance to leave the room. He caught Arya frowning at him in confusion but told her off with a wave of his hand. He waited for everyone else to be gone before he continued.

 

“Your grace.”, the Lorathi outed slightly bowing his head. He did not seem very surprised about this conversation, Jon noted, he did not sense the slightest bit of unease coming from him.

 

“I believe we have not had a chance to properly talk since your arrival, my lord. I have realized I do not know much about you.”, he said solemnly, with a voice and a composure he willed as kingly as possible.

 

A smirk shadowed on the Lorathi's face as he lowered his eyes a bit to let the White Wolf experiment with his authority and continue his interrogation.

 

“For how long have you known my sister Arya?”, he went straight to the point, looking at him in the eyes.

 

“A man has known her since she was ten and two, your grace.”

 

_ That's what Arya said _

_ She met him on the way with the Night's Watch and he helped her out of Harrenhal where she served as a cupbearer for… was it Roose Bolton or Tywin Lannister? _

_ Nevermind. _

 

“Why did you offer her your help?”, he kind of dreaded this question, his fear was reasonable. 

 

She was only a lonely girl on the road back then, and with all he had heard at the Night's Watch about rapers and wicked men, he knew that she used to be an easy prey and quite simply manipulable, despite how smart she had always been and her tendency to fight back at whoever annoyed her. She still would have had no chance against someone of his stature back then, even more so if he was a trained assassin.

 

“A girl had saved a man from a painful death by fire, he had to return a favor.”, he said, as if it was the most obvious and normal thing to do.

 

Jon nodded, strangely satisfied. He seemed like a good man, a man who would not forcefully indulge little girls, so he trusted his instinct, which told him that nothing inappropriate had happened between them at this point.

 

_ Then, she said they parted after he invited her to his guild in Braavos… _

_ And there they met again after what, two, three years? _

_ So that made her… fifteen. _

 

“How old are you, my lord?”, he asked again. For an instant he wondered if he was being intrusive. Surely if Arya knew he was interrogating him so, she would not be so pleased. But he did not care.

 

“A score and nine.”

 

_ Twelve years older _

_ That's fine… Rhaegar was also older than Lyanna… _

 

He stared at him for a few more minutes, asked himself what Arya saw in him. He emitted an aura that felt both very safe yet mysterious, and he had heard the handmaidens gush many times about his exotic looks and his two colored hair, although he knew Arya did not care about appearance. He had also remarked that he never threw back their glances, his gaze never lingered on them, only on Arya. He realized he did not feel the urge to threaten him like he had had with Petyr Baelish.

 

“Take care of her.”, he finished up with the most sincere expression on his face, and he got an honest smile in response.

 

When the Lorathi left, Jon caught his friend gawking from behind the heavy double doors, obviously pondering if he should enter or not.

 

“What is it, Sam?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is kind of an 'info chapter', next one will be a lot more exiting and shouldn't take as long ;)
> 
> Please, leave a comment and check out the other works ;) <33
> 
> Artist's Instagram: @emmney.art


	23. Gods and Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!   
> I hope you enjoy!

“A little thing, really, a tiny little ceremony, two hours, tops…will you attend it?”

 

Jon smiled at his friend. Only he could think about marriage in the midst of the end of the world.

 

“It's just that with…whatever is coming for us, I want her to know…”, the romantic, poetry-reader in him spoke.

 

Jon took a deep breath, nodded his assent. He had to admit that he also thought about… union, life, future, these days.He could not blame the young scientist. Surely a war they did not know if they would win had something to do with it. The idea of a marriage to his Queen was impossible before, because of Euron Greyjoy who could have possibly taken the power in the South, and to whom she could have offered her hand to secure the union between North and South. Obviously Jon would have slain the man before he could have had laid his filthy eyes on her.

 

But since the man was already out of trouble now, he had considered making his child a true born, and the thought quite… haunted him, if he wanted to be true to himself. He could hand the North over to Sansa, make her the governess, or even the Queen, if his agreed to. The Northerners were proud, they would not go back to being part of the seven Kingdoms now that they had had a taste of independence.The Lords loved Sansa, she had the right ancestral family name and she was truly made for ruling, she was way better at it than he was. He could travel South with his Queen, watch her everyday of his life rule over the seven Kingdoms, watch little Robb or little Rhaenna learn to walk between the Dragon's skulls in the throne room of the Red Keep, watch the woman he loved birth their child brothers and sisters...

 

He did not even know if she wanted to marry again after the loss of her first husband. But if she did, well, a marriage for love and not for interest amongst nobles in Westeros would be quite the exception. But there was no time for that now, they both had other things to take care of. Surely his son or daughter would not care if they were a bastard in the few early years of their life.

 

A marriage for love during war, his brother Robb had done that. And he would not do the same mistake than his brother. No, he would wait for the proper time. When she is on the Throne already, maybe? Or they could have a ceremony celebrating their union and the defeat of the dead at the same time. Not a big ceremony, something small with only friends and family, no lords or ladies they never met, invited just for formalities. Something that included honey cakes and gingerbread, the way old nan used to make them.

 

“We'll have a feast, in the Great Hall.”, he smiled.

 

“Oh, I-I wasn't asking for so much-”

 

“It will not be anything fancy, considering our resources, but surely the cook could manage to make the stew a little less watery for one evening! And we'll open a bottle of liquor and a bottle of mead when the High Lords retire, we do need to celebrate, it's your wedding!”, he patted his friend's shoulder.

 

Maybe a wedding was not that much of a bad idea. And moreover, a little feast would not hurt anyone. It demanded very little organization, just some food and a bit to drink, and it would jolt some life back in everyone who was growing desperate these days.

 

“I'll order we have some nice dishes cooked, how ready are you?”

 

“Oh, I've been ready since our eyes met in that Keep…”

 

“How does tonight sound then?”, he said smiling again.

 

“T-tonight?”, Sam's eyes grew wide.

 

“Well, the southern men will arrive to the battlefield soon, I'm afraid we won't find any time when they are there.”

 

“Oh, alright then, tonight it will be. A tiny thing, uh, you… your siblings, if they want to, but that's all, we haven't even decided yet what kind of ceremony we wanted, but that'll be settled quite quickly I guess…”

 

Jon nodded at his friend's excitement.

A wedding… maybe it sounded crazy during those times, but in a way, it made perfect sense. What better time to celebrate love and life than when people finally understand how short their existence truly is?

 

“Oh, and I wanted to ask you something, are you familiar with the prophecy of Azor Ahai?”, Jon asked, his tone suddenly serious.

 

“Hum, yes, well… Gilly knows definitely more about it, it's little Sam's favorite bedtime story.”, he mumbled, confused.

 

“Do you know what Nissa Nissa means?”, Jon asked, the words of Melisandre of Asshai resonating in his head, the coldness of her tone still sending shivers down his back. Sam's eyes grew sad.

 

“She is the wife. The prince that was promised plunged his sword through his beloved's heart, and the sword caught on fire, became-”

 

“Lightbringer.”, Jon finished his sentence, blankly looking into emptiness.

 

A heavy silence suddenly invaded the room, weighing Jon's shoulders down.

 

He inhaled.

 

_This cannot be_

_She must be Azor Ahai, and I, the Nissa Nissa_

_I could never_

 

The low growl of the little white dragon who was resting near the fireplace interrupted his flow of thoughts.

 

“Jon, d-do you think that you…?”, Sam muttered again, looking at the King in the North with worried eyes.

“I mean, many believe that you are-”

 

“Prophecies are always…vague. As you said, they're all bedtime stories for mothers to tell their babes, Sam. Don't trouble yourself, I've never believed in them.”, Jon said, Ned Stark shadowing on his face. He brushed the serious thoughts away and a gentle smile reformed on his lips.

 

*

 

Indeed, it had been a short ceremony. Just a few people, standing in the snow, Samwell Tarly and Gilly, not being particularly religious, reciting some verses they liked and had picked up from a book in front of the Weirwood tree, the whole thing with Jon standing before them, and giving the whole thing a more ceremonial and authentic aspect.

 

_We are tonight witnessing the union of Samwell of House Tarly and Gillyflower..._

_On this night, two lives, two hearts, two souls shall become one in the eyes of the Gods and the Men…_

_You may now seal your marriage and your love with a kiss…_

 

It was not that Arya hated weddings, she just found no purpose in them. Moreover, she had just escaped a political marriage, hence her _fondness_ for such ceremonies.

 

Of course, she understood how poetic it was and everything if the two betrothed truly loved each other, but Arya Stark was far from that. To her, the blessing of the Gods had absolutely no importance, and if she wanted to prove to whoever her love for them, she found it very senseless to feel the urge of doing it in front of a horde of other people. And the whole concept of marriage and union of souls had been misused and soiled, by all the Lords and Ladies marrying for interest, therefore the whole act had lost all of it's initial meaning and authenticity in the girl's mind.

 

The feast was nice however, maybe it was the only truly useful and valuable thing about marriages. The food tasted better than usual, and the ambiance in the Great Hall reminded her of those feasts her Lord Father held when she and her siblings were small, and which she was never allowed to attend to because of her age or because Septa Mordane or Mother had punished her for annoying Sansa or something. She did not enjoy them as much when she was a little girl though, she would always prefer to leave the table early, despite the older women's admonishments, and go play with Jon outside.

 

But tonight, she enjoyed it. It was a little feast, with no futile decorations or long and boring conversations about politics or some serious subjects. She knew all the people that were here, so the atmosphere was almost family-like. She took part in the dialogues for the first hours of the evening, but these dialogues grew more and more senseless the more people ate and drank, so she turned her attention to the Lorathi, who seemed to be more than delighted to hear her girlish giggles at every damned word that slipped out of his lips.

 

It was very odd for Arya to cackle like that, but she had had a cup of mead, and her reddened cheeks and gleaming eyes testified that she was in a more cheerful mood than usual. And this accursed Lorathi was enchanted that his dirty talking was so effective on her.

 

_Maybe a man and a girl should retire now, a man will enjoy his desert in between a lovely girl's legs…_ , he purred in a ridiculously seductive accent.

 

And every syllable rolled off his shameless tongue and all she could think about was how these bewitching and taunting lips felt against her own, her skin, every single inch of her, and she cursed repeatedly for he was pulling the strings that control her lust so darn easily. He made sure to speak in bastard Valyrian when a maid or anyone passed by for them not to understand why she was so red, and she repeatedly cursed whoever invented that language for Valyrian sounded much more _vivid_ than common tongue.

 

_Come on lovely girl, no one will hear you screaming a man's name with all that hubbub…_

 

And during the whole freaking evening she had to bite down her lip to the point where she almost tasted her own blood because that revolting teaser would not shut his infernal mouth.

 

Joy and laughter were in the air, and the more the lords and ladies drank, the more the heated atmosphere grew ecstatic. Even Sansa had forgotten all of her manners, and kept on whispering things Arya did not want to hear in Sandor Clegane's ear, very close to his face, her cheeks flushed because of the liquor she had allowed herself to drink. It was alright, it was quite late already and only people they knew very well had remained in the Great Hall to celebrate, there were no handmaidens left or old lords her sister's behavior would scandalize. But still, it looked extremely singular.

 

“Ah, little Sam, aren't you thrilled? You're a Tarly now!”, Jon said, cheerful, taking the little lad who was crawling under the table on his lap.

 

The young boy with blonde locks mumbled something to himself.

 

“It's more than time for him to go to bed.”, Gilly stated.

 

“To bed? In your little chamber in the Guest's House? With you two?”, Jon scoffed.

 

He too was obviously a bit spirited, his eyes were sparkling and he was laughing way more than usual, and it was so unlike him to speak about these things in public. Luckily, Daenerys had hardly been able to keep her eyes open during the whole evening and had retired more than an hour ago, sparing him the severe look he would have received.

 

The others scoffed as Gilly and Sam awkwardly lowered their flushed faces.

 

“I fear the wet nurses are all sleeping by now, it would not do to wake them up, but surely we'll find him a little place somewhere, right?”, a smile shadowed on Arya's face. It was so obvious that he could not wait to be a father himself.

 

“That's very kind, your grace, but…he still wakes up a lot and gets scared when he is alone.”, Gilly thanked him, a bit disappointed in having to decline the offer.

 

“Worry not, we will find someone to look after him.”, he said expectantly looking at Sansa, who was busy running her hand on the Hound's lap, before she turned her her eyes to Jon, her smile disappearing.

 

_Oops, she had something else in mind for tonight_

 

It was expected from Sansa to offer to take care of the new little Lord. Of course, children around the castle loved her, she was known to be just and caring, and she had helped Gilly with her two year-old before, he knew the Lady of Winterfell well. And she had the parental chambers, big enough to host a toddler's bed for one night. But obviously, she had planned on sharing her bedroom with someone else that night.

 

“I will!”, Arya hissed, standing up abruptly and surprising everyone.

 

All eyes turned to her.

 

“I'll-I'll take care of him, my room's big enough.”, Arya continued, surprised by her own reaction, the room swaying a bit around her.

 

_Damn it_

_I don't even know how to take care of a two year old_

_But it can't be that hard, right?_

 

She bit her lower lip as her eyes found the Lorathi, as she realized what a lovely night she just had sacrificed. But she was glad if she could somehow help Sansa. She looked at her older sister who was smiling at her attempt to save her evening. Jon frowned, confused.

 

“Arya…I mean no offense but he is… a really young boy, and I think it might be better if S-”

 

“A man will take care of the little Lord.”, Jaqen intervened standing up, and the sisters felt a wave of release.

 

“Oh, well…if that agrees with you, Lord H'ghar”, Sam mumbled.

“We would be very grateful, he is very tired and will not cause you any trouble, I can promise you that.”, he said smiling, but his cheeks still flushed from the awkwardness of such a conversation.

 

Jaqen was very good with children around the castle, they all loved him and invited him to share their meals, wanted him to always show them new tricks about blades and bows, and Arya had also heard that they had all come to visit him when he was wounded and recovering in the maester's turret. Not only did they adore him, but he had proven that he truly cared about them during this stupid raid North. He had let none of his young students get hurt, even if that meant giving up on his life to save them from the smallest harm. Obviously, he was way more popular than Arya in this castle; the children, the parents, the stupid girlish maids, all of them idolized him.

 

The little Sam did not know Jaqen, but he was not known to be shy, and as he understood that the redhead would be the one talking care of him tonight, he rushed to the tall man and his small arms encircled his legs. Arya saw a smile on Jaqen's face she had never seen before as he lifted the little blond from the ground, and she felt a weight fall on her shoulders at the sight of the babe in the Lorathi's arms. The way the little lord trusted him blindly and the tenderness in Jaqen's bronze eyes woke something in her, she felt her heart beat faster, and she had to force herself to look away not to get lost in her thoughts and just awkwardly stare at them.

 

He bowed to the others, wishing them a good night before leaving with the little Tarly.

 

“I should leave too, I…have to help packing on the morrow.”, she said before congratulating the weds and departing for the night. Sansa threw her another thanking smile before she walked out of the doors.

 

*

 

It had been a very small marriage, nothing like the marriages Sansa had imagined and dreamed about as a young maiden. But something in her told her that this was the way all marriages should be. Only friends and family, love in the eyes of the betrothed, not two strangers married off for interest swearing loyalty to the other in front of a horde of expectant beneficiaries.

 

But the thoughts about the spiritual meaning and the philosophical beauty of marriages quickly faded throughout the evening as she allowed herself to taste this fruit liquor, and all she could think about as she was regaining her chamber with the help of Sandor, who thought that she would trip and break her neck on her way back had she been alone, was how unreasonable she had been.

 

But life is short. And an army of mythical creatures was rushing upon them, which made life even shorter. Being well spirited for one night would not hurt anyone. It was the first time actually, that she drank so much. She just wanted to experience something, be bolder than usual. And everyone had done the same, there was no reason why she should have restrained herself when even Jon had enjoyed a few more cups of mead than what was necessary to wish the newly weds a good health.

 

She was not drunk, not fully. Her ideas were still clear. She was just perkier than usual, and she could not help herself from giggling at everyone's stupid japes.

 

“Did you see the look on the little one's face though? Ha, poor thing doesn't even know why he's been dismissed from his own chamber, and now he's stuck with two assassins for the night.”, she laughed at her own words, heard him scoff.

 

He drank too, but his large and trained body could take in much more alcohol than hers, therefore he was in his regular state. Maybe just a little more amused than usual, but not because of his drinks, because of her.

 

“Only one assassin, parents aren't crazy enough to leave their child to your sister.”, he said, his eyes gleaming in the dark.

 

“Oh no, two assassins…”, she said in a low and amused tone, as they paced through the yard towards the Great Keep, with his arm firm on her back.

“I know her, she's gonna itch to go to him. I'm not sure if that child's innocent mind is much safer with these two.”

 

She heard him strangle himself in what was both a chortle and cough, and his stunned reaction made her laugh hard.

 

“What?! These two?! “, he blurted out, almost stifling on his own words.

“The pretty redhead fancies little girls?!”

 

_The bastard fucked her?!_

_Hells!_ _She's twelve years old_ _!_

 

“Shhh…”, she uttered, seemingly very entertained.

“She's no longer a little girl you know-”

 

“She was when they met! Ugh, that's why she couldn't shut up about her bloody killer back then, surely he did nasty-”

 

“Seven hells, no!”, she laughed, cut him before he could utter anything that would have disgusted the both of them.

“Only since they've reunited in Winterfell, I made sure of that!”, she said as they made their way up the stairs, speaking in a hushed tone not to wake up anyone.

 

He shook his head in incredulity as they stood in front of her door. Noticing these kinds of things concerning people around the castle had never been his strength, only she could pay attention to such details.

 

“Arya is a grown up now, she can defend herself, take her own decisions…”, she said as her fingers entwined with his.

“So let's not worry about Arya anymore, another pretty redhead needs your attention now.”, she voiced out, pulling his face to hers before she planted little, feathery kisses on his smiling lips.

 

“Sansa-”, he tried as she dragged him through the door, her lips still against his.

“You're spirited-”

 

“I can still think…”, she said, pushing the door closed.

 

He took her head in his broad hands, kissed her deeper.

 

“I don't want to hurt you, little bird-”

 

“I want this, Sandor, I want to know how it truly is, how good it truly feels with someone I love.”, she marked a pause, looked into his eyes of shimmering steel, and not a single face she had ever seen or imagined looked more beautiful at this moment.

“Can you do that for me?”, she asked, whispering.

 

He got closer to her, completely entranced by the enchantment that she was. Their lips crashed, and she let a quiet moan escape her throat as he carried her to the bed.

 

She began unlacing his coat as he got rid of the furs and fabrics that covered her. Softly, gently. There was no rush, they had the whole night before them. He ran his broad and calloused hands on her skin delicately, as if it were the purest silk. He relished the sight of her perfect naked body underneath him, and her eyes looking at him in pure fondness.

 

_Seven Hells, what did I ever do for you to feel anything for a brute like me, precious little bird?_

 

He shifted, settled her on top of him, thinking that she might like it better this way.

 

He got a smile in response. The sound of gentle caresses and soft kisses filled the room as they got encircled by a wave of obsession and desire. The heated atmosphere and her burning kisses on his skin unraveled something in him, something he thought was long lost and would never light up again, and he embraced every aspect of this feeling only she had the power to wake in him. Thanks to her he felt truly alive, he felt like someone, like he was of some kind of value and that his life mattered to another being on this wicked world.

 

She was lowering her gaze, and a speck of anxiety showed through her delicate features as their skin were in contact, her womanhood brushing his raised member.

 

“Sansa, look at me…”, he whispered, putting light kisses on her hand, which felt very smooth and soft in his.

 

She did, a sparkle of fondness animating her sky blue eyes. He planted a soft kiss on her reddened lips.

 

“Say my name…”, he willed his voice to be less hoarse than usual.

 

Her lips pulled into a smile.

 

“Sandor…”, he saw her regain her confidence. By the seven, she was so beautiful…

 

She wrapped her arms around his muscled shoulders, allowed him inside of her, letting him discover how tight and delightful she felt. She parted her mouth for air as she descended to fully let him in, their gazes still locked. She moved, he rocked his hips. Slowly at first, each one letting the other consume them bit by bit, until their dance grew more passionate, the sound of their joining fleshes and breathy moans replacing the soft melody of the cracking fire. Her hair of copper bounced, small strands clinging to her damp and heated skin.

 

And he wished he could have forever kept the picture of her gorgeous face being engorged by a swirl of pleasure as he fell off the cliff with her.

 

*

 

Before she could even knock, the door opened to reveal the Lorathi smirking at her.

She quickly brushed the astonished expression off her face. Of course, Jaqen always knew everything.

 

“I wanted to-”, he pushed the door open, invited her in with a wave of his hand.

 

“A girl wanted her sister to be left alone with Sandor Clegane for the night.”

 

Yes, Jaqen always knew everything.

 

“How kind.”

 

“Are you mad?”, she asked, a corner of her mouth lifting against her will.

 

_Oh, that would have been a lovely night_ , she thought, eyes lingering on the freshly made bed.

 

“No, a man enjoys children.”

 

“You weren't forced to volunteer.”

 

“Indeed. And here we are.”

 

They looked at each other, a bitter taste in their mouth. But Arya did not regret, not the slightest bit.

 

“But a man is expecting a girl to help him.”

 

“What?! There's a reason why they did not let me have him! Jaqen, you know how I am with children!”, she hissed, as he picked up the little one who was crawling next to their feet in his sleeping garments.

 

“No, a man doesn't. He has only seen you train teenage girls, a little boy is very different. Just for an hour, the new little lord is used to hearing stories before sleeping, and a man fears he doesn't know as many tales as a girl does.”

 

_Maybe you should recite him poetry_ , she felt like saying dryly.

 

But she froze. The sight of the tiny man in the Lorathi's arms sent shivers through her, and she blinked twice before she could utter anything.

 

“Alright…”, someone said, and only after long seconds did she realize that it was her voice and that her lips had moved. She inwardly slapped herself because she sounded nothing like Arya Stark.

 

_What in the seven hells is happening to me right now_

_Did anyone poison my mead for me to suddenly stiffen in front of him holding a babe?!_

 

Arya never thought about children. Or rather, she never thought about having children of her own before. But now the sight of that little boy in the man's arms was sending a message in her mind that was totally unbelievable and utterly confusing.

 

_But what would…ours… look like?_ , she dared ask herself, as her eyes were still locked on Jaqen carrying the toddler to his little bed, brought in by the maids.

_Would his hair be red…or white?_

_Or maybe chestnut, like m-_

_Seven hells, I must be drunk_

 

It took her all of her strength to not melt when she saw Jaqen tenderly smile as the child was arranging the covers and furs of his bed, and she shook her head in an attempt to regain her senses.

 

_Fucking Lorathi_

 

“You know stories, Iaqen?”, the tiny man asked, heard the redhead chortle.

 

“The lady Arya will tell you one.”, he said, turning his gaze to her.

 

_Ugh_

_I hate everything about that expectant smile on your face, H'ghar_

_What are you doing to me?_

 

His gentle smile grew into a smirk in response. _Nothing at all_ , his eyes ironically answered her thoughts. And damn, he was right, he was not doing anything, she was just going crazy.

 

“Fine”, she said, settling Needle in the corner of the room, sitting on the small bed.

“So, erm…Sam…”, she blushed, she did not know why, probably because she felt the Lorathi's golden eyes on her back as she was struggling.

 

She tried to brush the thought of him off, but ignoring this damnable man was freaking impossible. She cleared her throat, willed her voice to be soft for once.

 

“ _There was once a queen, whose name was Nymeria. She was queen of the Rhoynar, people who lived across the narrow sea, near the Rhoyne river._

_But there were_ _also_ _Valyrians, against whom the_ _queen and her people_ _fought, and lost…_ ”

 

She continued telling her favorite story about the Warrior Queen as the little Sam's eyes were slowly closing, forgetting about the Lorathi's presence, who was silently listening at her tale with much more attention that the toddler whom she was recounting it to. She stopped as she saw the child's chest heave up and down in peaceful, regular motions.

 

“Well…”, she whispered.

“Done.”, she said, turning her head to look at him.

 

She kissed him on the lips, she could not help the urge. But she did not linger, or else it may have been the end of her.

 

“Goodnight then.”

 

She thought it better to leave immediately, she did not look back as she felt his burning and consuming stare on her, for she feared that if she did, she would end up on her knees begging him to make her godforsaken _babies_ before the break of dawn.

 

_A mere child near him and I'm loosing my mind?!_

_This is not Arya Stark_

_What happened to me_

_What kind of bloody magic is this?!_

 

_Shit_ -she could not restrain herself, she looked back before closing the door. And his eyes were on her, as if invading and reading her thoughts.

 

She almost ran to her room, shut the door quickly, removed her clothes to slip in a long, white nightgown, before she crashed on the bed, her face buried in the pillows.

 

_Urgh!_ , was her deafened growl.

 

She wanted to scream, she needed to scream. What was this man doing to her? And he was not even doing anything! He was silently putting a strange and enticing Lorathi spell on her, he created scandalous images of her with a round belly in his wicked mind, before sending them to her through his bewitching and sexy stares and-

 

“A girl forgot her Needle.”, she heard before jumping back on her feet.

 

_How did he enter without me hearing? I closed the door!_

_Maybe because I was too busy cursing him for his unspoken promises_

_Damn it, I'm going insane_

 

“A girl is upset, a man cannot tell why.”, he purred as he settled her tiny sword near the bed, gleaming eyes on her, scouring every detail of her body not well concealed under the robe.

 

She shook her head, dismissed his statement.

 

_A girl is simply going crazy_

 

“You're very good-”, she said, as he was about to walk out.

“With…children.”, she mumbled as her cheeks reddened.

 

She did not know why she was holding him back, part of her did not want him to leave. Not right now. The little one was sleeping anyway, he did not need to be watched over, or at least not for a few minutes. He smirked back in response. His contempt smile annoyed her a bit, but this man would not be Jaqen H'ghar if he was not just a little bit infuriating, and she would not be Arya Stark if she did not boil up at every of his statements.

 

“I mean, even when we met there was something quite…fatherly about you.”, she continued, looking for her words and cheeks reddening more and more.

 

“Ah, and does a girl still see a father in a man?”, he purred, approaching her like a lion would stride to a wounded lamb, licking his lip before devouring the poor thing.

 

_Oh yes, you would make a great father_

 

She inwardly slapped herself again. Then gulped down. Loudly. Then she clicked her tongue to shut her inner self, and to dismiss that bewitching stare of his, and she chose to ignore the fact that he surely knew exactly what she was thinking.

 

“Of course not, I'm not a little girl anymore.”, she tried to regain some kind of self restrain and not wolf down these maddening lips of his, teasing her mercilessly in every move.

 

_He transformed me into a scurrilous wanton_

 

“Hmm”, he murmured, and it was like a dangerous beast's low growl, he looked like a predator ready to jump at her throat and indulge it with searing kisses and desiring teeth-grazing.

 

She exhaled, and by the Old Gods and the New, how can a single exhale scream of so much whimper and lust and scandalous thoughts?

 

He was close to her now, their faces only inches apart, she could feel his burning breath caressing her skin, and she knew he caught the change in her breath as she felt his hand gently settle on her waist, as if her flesh had been set aflame at his sudden touch. He grazed her cheek with the tip of his nose, and his never ending teasing would surely make her burst into a tempest someday.

 

“Good, little girls should be nowhere near you and me right now.”

 

The deepness of his voice made her tremble all over, and she had to wrap her arms around his neck not to be engulfed in a storm of heat and feelings and excitement.

 

_How can he be so courteous one minute and a so indecently sexy the next?!_

 

She wanted to say something witty to tease him back, but her mind could not figure out anything, and her voice would probably have sounded more like a moan than actual words, so she just leaned in and closed her eyes before kissing all the seven Hells out of him. That fuller lower lip had teased her for way too long.

 

“The-ah…-little Sam?”, she managed in-between hungry kisses.

 

“He's asleep, I have someone else to take care of right now…”, he murmured, pushing his tongue in her mouth, swiftly untying the knots of her nightgown as if his hands were burning and her lust impregnated skin was the fresh water soothing them.

 

She felt dizzy from excitement and removed his garments, the buckle of his belt tinkled on the cold tiles, and caressed his hard and golden chest obsessively as he caught a strong hold on both of her legs and lifted her from the ground like she weighed nothing.

 

“Gods, we are terrible at baby-sitting…”, she giggled as he settled her on the furs, splaying her legs before burying his face between them.

 

His strong arms held her hips, preventing the smallest movement, her hands wrapped in his scarlet and ivory colored locks and her enthralling moans increased his famine for her.

 

He licked her first, his torrid and able tongue covering her and sending electrifying jolts through her, then sucked her folds, dipped in her wetness and took his sweet time circling her bundle of nerves and performing his art, tormenting her in ways impossible for she was writhing and silently begging for more, clutching at the sheets to save herself from falling in the vortex that had formed beneath her.

 

“Jaqen…”, she urged him chewing her lower lip, as she felt a wave of uncontrollable burning heat fully take control of her.

 

“Patience, lovely girl”, he purred as his lips and hands were kindling and deviling her.

 

She felt herself tremble slightly, felt the emotions start to swirl in her head and clutched at the sheets. She felt the building want pull hard in her lower stomach, it stirred in her like a wicked beast begging for release.

 

Her moan died in her throat as he left her core before allowing her to come and kissed his way up her stomach, stopped to nip at her aching nipples.

 

“WH- Don't stop! You-”

 

She did not even find an insult to throw at him as her eyes caught his wicked grin.

 

She grumbled, and the expression on her face must have been priceless for his smirk grew wider.

 

She tightly hooked her legs behind his back, pulled him closer, her own hands traveling down to finish his job before she could punch him or slap him or whatever he would need to understand that he must never do this again! What in the seven Hells was that?! It was like pushing a bird close to the edge, sing about how blissful flying is, and keep his wings tied before pulling him back! She wanted to scratch his sly smile away, make him pay because nothing felt as embittered as being so close to a blast and being dropped at the last second.

 

“We have the whole night, lovely girl…”, he said pinning her arms over her head, not allowing her to touch herself, planting feathery kisses on the sides of her lips, flushed cheeks, snub nose, secretly thrilled and ferociously triumphant for he only wanted to see how much she was craving him.

 

_What kind of torture is that?!_

 

“You can't do that!”, she angrily jeered trying to wriggle out of his hold, frustrated by the anti-climax he had made her experience. Her core was pulsing, begging for the stimulation he restrained, as was the despaired expression on her face. She did not care if she looked like a wanton, she _needed_ him right now.

 

Even her body were pleading. He felt the blood being pumped to his manhood as she brushed her wet innocence against his rock-hard shaft.

 

“I need you now!”, she squealed, tried to angle her hips to get him to touch her, but he held her down sturdily, smirked at her diabolically.

 

He grazed his teeth against her heated skin, ran his tongue behind her ear and heard a distressed moan escape her, he knew this spot was a weakness of hers.

 

“Who do you need?”, he purred next to her ear in a mischievous tone, and she was throbbing so hard underneath him she thought she was about to burst.

 

_Damn it, you never stop playing…_ , she mused biting her lip. Why was this stupid assured accent making her want him more?

 

She could see in his eyes that he did not even try to hide his enjoyment at the sight of her writhing in excitement and hunger for him. Like a malignant and playful beast, he slid against her wetness and the little moans that escaped her throat against her will were like a delightful melody to him.

 

“You, demonic teaser!”

 

“Ahh…”, he taunted her as he started rocking his hips against her, still not giving her what she was pleading for.

“A man is not sure that this is his name…”, he murmured, ginger and cloves crawling underneath her heated skin, erasing all traces of Arya Stark and replacing her with a craving beast who only smells and tastes and thinks of _him_.

 

He was having trouble showing restraint too, he was exploring the limits of his own patience, but the riling kind of foreplay had always been his favorite, it made everything so much more enjoyable afterward, and he had to admit that he was not against a bit of power play with her.

 

_Just you wait until I am in control, evil bastard,_ she thought, unconsciously playing his game too, looking into his golden irises gleaming with want and vile delight. Then she cursed because all of this made her so, _so_ wet.

_Just you wait_

 

He caught the spark of revenge in her eyes, and it merely amused him more. He knew there would be consequences to playing with her so, she was making plans already about ways to make him endure the same thing, if not a worse treatment, and he could hardly waitto see with what wickedly nasty ideas she would come up with.

 

“Jaqen H'ghar!”, she bent against his sweet torture. It was a vicious victory for him, he got strangely aroused by the mere sound of her voice saying his name.

 

The air stilled, obsession and want rushed through them as their gaze locked. Now, _he stopped playing_ , she could almost read it in his eyes.

 

She saw him take the decision.

 

_By the seven this is going to happen for real how I am supposed to survive this I'll never be able to think about anything else than him after that-_ , she tried to shut her inner self, to control the excitement holding her guts.

 

He kissed her deeply, spoke against her lips.

 

“Tell Jaqen H'ghar if he hurts you, lovely girl…”, were his words as he let go of her wrists, took himself in hand and sheathed the head of him in slowly.

 

_Oh Gods oh gods this is happening-_ , she shut her thoughts again, concentrated on what she was feeling.

 

She gasped in both pain and release as he pushed himself inside and stretched her, like a thousand searing needles burying themselves in her, expanding her tight walls. It was a strange pain. Searing and itching.

 

For half a second, he found himself unable to rule his face at the feeling of how snug she was.

 

She held onto his strong shoulders, her lip twitched, her knee quivered, she squeezed her eyes and her mouth close, she did not want to make a sound for she did not know if it was pleasure or agony. He kissed her on the cheeks, forehead, chin, lips, willed to take the discomfort away.

 

She opened her eyes again, observed the gleaming gold in his. She liked the feeling of him inside of her.

 

“I will skin you alive if you stop.”, she murmured arrogantly, her confidence unshakable, the flicker of audacity back in her stormy eyes.

 

He smirked at her, relished her ravishing tightness and began moving, waving back and forth, plunging a little more of himself in her in each thrust, and the stinging feeling quickly faded, replaced by thrill and the sound of breathy moans as instinct took over and a hot dance of the flesh began.

 

Arya was getting lost in her own head, she did not know what was real and what was not anymore, engulfed by the way their bodies moved so smoothly by themselves, the feeling of him stirring inside of her, the friction, his ginger and cloves scent, the wet sound of him loving her, the spicy taste of his tongue in her mouth…it was too much to name it all, yet she wanted more. She clung onto his sculpted back, pressed her damp skin against his, noticed her toes curl as he accelerated his pace and she met his impassioned thrusts.

 

She had to open her mouth for dire air, his hands and lips were all over her snow white breasts, the gentle curve of her waist, her skinny thighs, caressing, soothing, claiming, and sounds of pleasure escaped both their throats, mingled with the melody of the distant howling wind and their clasping bodies. She did not really know what to hold onto, her hands wandered on his back, felt the strong muscles contract at the same mild and loving rhythm of their joining bodies.

 

She lost the reins of her thoughts, ideas and concepts just flashed uncontrollably. This is what they were made for, now they were not Jaqen H'ghar and Arya Stark, they were no one, or only one rather, one being made of two souls who belong to each other, one would not be able to tell where Arya ends and where Jaqen begins, and she wondered how all this time she survived without knowing how it was to feel so complete.

 

It was paroxysm, she did not only give him her body, she also opened the doors of her spirit for him, allowed him to own every droplet of the very essence of Arya Stark and make her his…

 

And he was hers, just hers only, like he had always been, every bead of her substance he was draining was bonding Jaqen H'ghar to her, like thin invisible strings tying and tangling themselves around his arms, his legs, his neck, but also his lungs, his brains, his heart…

 

It is the simplest yet the most intricate feeling, both carnal and philosophical, a need that can never be sated, an addiction that leads to a loss of the self but to the culmination of the spirit, a shared passion that leads to death and rebirth- and Gods why was she thinking about all of this right now when she just wanted to enjoy this moment?!

 

She tried to push the swirl of unnameable emotions away and concentrate on what she was physically feeling.

 

She was clenching at him inside of her, the trembling muscles squeezing around him, and her eyes met his. He watched her beautiful, flushed face, he did not want to miss a single expression that might shadow on her visage as he was making love to her.

 

She was about to whine when he got out of her, but he took a grasp on her skinny thighs, and in one calculated and perfectly executed transition, he swiftly lifted her legs and they were now resting on top of his shoulders. She could not help but blurt when he penetrated her again, for he went deep inside of her and he felt huge, so huge she was not sure if she could take all of him in without him tearing her apart.

 

And it felt amazing.

 

In each thrust he would hit a spot that made her arch her back and cry out more every time, some incredible spot she did not know existed until now, and each plunge felt like she was climbing one more step on the stairs that lead to that so desired blast, to the realm where flesh and desire and passion rule.

 

She felt her body tremble, clung onto him as her heart plundered and her inner self went mad… She did not have the time to wonder why her voice was so high pitched, she just heard herself and him panting, she left marks on his back with her short nails, but she had no time to think about that either as a wave of heat drowned her and she still felt him plunge into her, looking at her with gleaming eyes so filled with fondness and oh she was so close-

 

_B_ _liss_.

 

_Ah-Jaqen!_ , she shrieked.

 

The light flickered, the shapes blurred, it was an explosion in her head, a long string of curses in her thoughts. She felt herself tremble erratically, her muscles contracted in waves, coming in closer intervals as he kept on pounding. She heard herself cry out and almost did not believe it was her own voice for she had totally lost all sorts of commands and _oh Gods is all of this wetness coming from me?!_ She sensed him shake too, caught a groan before she felt his hot seed fill her.

 

“Arya…”, he breathed close to her ear, warm wind caressing her flushed cheeks.

 

After seconds she was still shaking and retrieving her breath, and she wondered if she ever would come back to earth after that high, and she asked herself if she even wanted to. She looked at him with a gaze impregnated in ardor, he was still in her, reveling in her tightness, and she sensed him smile as his mouth closed on hers lovingly.

 

She giggled quietly before she let his tongue invade her mouth again. 'Little death', she had heard courtesans in Braavos call it once, but she never felt this alive and feeling in her entire existence. She felt boneless, like she were sinking into the feather mattress, sinking and drowning in the sea of feelings he procured her. She let her head fall back, let out a long and satisfied exhale, and closed her eyes to take in this moment of exhaustion and pure pleasure.

 

She felt him withdraw from her, catch a strong hold on her ankles and flip her.

 

“No! No more!”, she said as he settled her on all fours, pushing her down so she rested on her elbows.

 

“In a few minutes, a girl will scream and beg for more.”, he purred, his voice straight and composed, the usual mischievous din to it.

 

She felt him hard again against her still quivering folds, her sore sex reddened and aching, still pulsating from the climax.

 

_Ah!_ she hissed as he claimed her again before she could even protest or curse, not tenderly and passionately this time but roughly, he pounded into her, a hand on this tempting apple-shaped and perfectly white bottom facing him and another on the low of her back, curving her spine. He looked like a starved and pitiless beast, like he had craved her for years despite the fact that he had climaxed less than a minute ago.

 

And all she managed to do was spread her legs a bit more to get him to go deeper, because it felt so fucking good. She felt his whole length and her eyes gleam with good tears, heard their breaths and the regular slamming of their skins.

 

He had always been like that, she reminded herself. Insatiable, raw and ruthless, and maybe she was too for she did nothing to stop him because it inwardly and inexplicably aroused her so.

 

She clutched at the sheets and buried her face in the pillows to deafen the loudness of the strangled and scandalous moans that came out of her.

 

She could feel their mingled juices drip down the inside of her thigh, helping him slide effortlessly in and out, and damn, the bastard was right, she relished the heightened feelings, the mixed pain and pleasure and she could not explain why. He bent over to whisper in her ear, a triumphing smile on his lips.

 

“Does a girl…wish for a man…to stop now?”, he purred as he pushed into her, buried himself deep, and a finger traced the perfect dip line of her back, feeling the heat and sweat, a few strands of his hair tickling her shoulder.

 

“Don't you dare!”, she hissed curling her toes as she saw the room sway around her, hated him because she loved whatever he was doing right now way too much.

 

As if the feeling of him grinding in and out, stretching and owning her was not enough, he reached down with his fingers and circled her engorged nub. And _oh_ \- was she responsive.

 

Her second orgasm hit her hard, when she had not recovered from her first yet.

 

Luckily for them, there was no one else in the children's wing that night except for the two assassins and little Sam, who-thank the Gods- was a heavy sleeper, because her moans could have woken up a dead.

 

But they were the sweetest melody to his ears.

 

“Now that was quick.”, he japed, still crushing into her and intensifying the feeling, racing for his own peak, which took him no more than a few seconds.

 

He exhaled and threw his head back, closed his eyes to relish, and heavily collapsed to her side, the both of them sweaty and flushed and feeling fucking alive.

 

“By the Seven…”, she whispered, red spots still dancing around her blurred field of view and a buzzing sound deafening her.

 

After a few minutes, she felt strength crawl back in her emptied muscles and her breathing steady as his was already fully composed again, his eyes closed and his expression serene. In the meantime she had regained the composure and arrogance he had managed to slip away from her for a few instants.

 

“Did you just say I come quickly?”, she said amused and rising her brows, a fake astonished expression on her lovely pink face, using the few seconds of his own release at her advantage to jump at his neck and throw him on the mattress.

 

“Let's see how it is done when I am in control.”, she continued, settling astride him.

 

He smirked. A wicked, naughty smirk full of dark and dirty promises.

 

“A girl learns fast.”

 

The early lights of the morning winter sun were starting to appear when Jaqen H'ghar and Arya Stark were finally too exhausted and collapsed on the bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... I hope you liked it (God I feel so dirty for writing this xD)
> 
> After 23 long chapters I thought it was 'bout damn time for these two :P
> 
> Please, leave a comment! :D


	24. The End begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's been a while, I know. But this is a very important chapter that I reeaally didn't want to rush. So, sorry not sorry :P
> 
> Also, quick little disclaimer: It's not very cheerful, but I squeezed in some cute fluff dripping with gooeyness to lighten it up a bit, I may have gotten a little bit out of character xD

One night. One night and the southern men would be there. One night and the end begins.

 

Sam had been right to marry his beloved three nights ago. They should all have married their beloved on that evening. One night, that was it, one last night to pronounce vows and sing about life and make love.

 

On that very night, everyone had felt wings grow in their backs. Bran had sent a raven to Meera Reed, Sansa had trapped the Hound in her delicate arms for hours. Jon was not even sure if he had crossed paths with his little sister Arya, she had locked herself up in her bedroom with the Lorathi for the whole day, and he did not want to think about what they might be doing. Everyone had done what they wanted to do the most, they had accomplished the last goals they promised themselves they would accomplish, relished what could be the last hours of their lives.

 

He heard the storm crash against the sturdy walls of Winterfell, the stones seemed to murmur. They were used to storms, it was not their first and he hoped not the last they would outlive. The young King was tossing and turning in the bed, unable to find sleep, fixing the canopy, like any battle's eve. Probably for the last time. If one must give his life, he must be the first, he thought. Of course, he was-

 

“Jon!”

 

He was surprised by the distressed din of her voice. He turned over immediately, saw Daenerys fully awake, clutching at her round belly, pain on her beautiful face, her free hair slightly ruffled.

 

“It's time!”, she hissed.

 

He was confused for half a second.

 

_Time?_

 

_Oh, time!_

_It's time!_

 

And he started panicking. It felt like a heavy wave had just fallen upon his shoulders.

He sprung from the bed, ran all around, groaned as he knocked his foot against the corner of the bed, mumbled something that resembled a curse but even he did not understand.

 

_What to do?_

_What do I do?!_ , he got pissed at himself for he never felt so irrational.

 

His fingers were trembling, he felt the cold sweat form, his motions were slow and uncontrolled, as if his body did not know how to react to the situation and did not obey him anymore. He had no idea of what he should be doing, and it felt odd and upsetting. Curious, he had led battles, toyed with his own life many times, he had even died, but never ever had he felt so lost and stressed out.

 

“Sam! Go fetch Sam, or the maester!”, she said, very amused by his reaction despite the searing pain of the strong contraction in her lower stomach.

 

Who could have known that the mighty King in the North, the man who had died once and come back to life, the man who had petted a dragon and walked into flames to hatch one, would lose his usual clod-blood and composure for the mere idea of his babe soon to be born?

 

He ran to get Sam and the maester, lips twitching and thrill raising in him. A long string of curses escaped his mouth as he stumbled in the snow under the dark and unmerciful sky. The strong wind pushed him on his way to the maester's turret, and he came back in the room covered in frost and snowflakes with as many wet nurses he could gather.

 

And so started the longest night in Jon's life.

*

 

Three days it had been since the wedding. Arya was nestled in Jaqen's arms. Only one single night left, before they would leave Winterfell and go fight against the army of Undead. They would leave on a dragon's back and fly to the other side of the Lust river, Jaqen was quite looking forward to that. But he had to admit he was less thrilled about the combat against a hundred thousand white walkers awaiting them all. He had never fought a war. He had never fought against someone who was dead before. But he brushed these baleful thoughts away. There were still a few hours left until everyone would start to panic and pray or sing to all the Gods they can think of for their lives.

 

He felt the warmth of her body resting on his, she was cradled by his heaving chest, by the beat of his heart against her.

 

They had shared a bed every night since the wedding and damn, Jaqen wished a good luck to anyone crazy enough to try and pull them apart this time. He bit his lower lip as he recalled this torrid first night. He also remembered the look on her face and his uncharitable chuckle when she had looked for her maiden's blood the next morning (or afternoon, actually, during the morning they had accompanied little Sam back to his parents and gotten some sleep, since the prior night had been reserved for another activity).

 

“ _I don't understand, I've never been with anyone before, yet…”_

 

_The confused look on her face was adorable. Jaqen wondered why she cared about such a detail._

 

“ _Maybe a girl has no blood anymore, maybe a girl has turned into a white walker without anyone noticing!”, he japed before jumping and crushing her under him on the squeaking mattress and suckling the white skin above her right breast._

 

“ _Hmm, no, still alive.”, he concluded, admiring the angry red kiss-mark he had left._

 

“ _I'm not kidding.”, she groaned, squirming under his weight._

“ _Both mother and Septa Mordane told me I would bleed the first time, I don't understand what's wrong with me.”, she continued inspecting the white sheets._

 

“ _A man can also bet they told a girl she would not enjoy it.”, he answered smirking at her._

 

_Really, he could not understand why Arya Stark cared about this, it was very unlike her._

 

“ _T-They did…”, he caught the slight blush forming on her cheeks._

 

“ _And, did that happen?”, he deepened his voice to say that. He was well aware of the arrogant grin on his face, he knew she loved it for she bit on her lower lip like she always did when she was aroused._

 

“ _Of course not…”, she said directing her seductive look back at him. She was smirking at how boyishly proud he looked before she connected their lips._

“ _But still-”, she ended the kiss and heard him scoff._

 

“ _Why is it that a girl suddenly wishes to paint her sheets with scarlet?”, he purred running his nails along the warm flesh of her back and pulling her back underneath him._

 

“ _I don't know…”, Jaqen could not help but smile, she sounded so much like a child still, despite her ten and eight years of sharing the air of this world with the rest of them._

“ _Symbolism, I guess…They all annoyed me back then with the importance of marriage and maiden's blood, and in the end I had none to give away, it's just…odd.”_

 

_He nodded as he understood. With all the lectures she had to suffer through, all the painful hours spent listening to her Septa or to her mother, explaining her the importance of keeping her virginal blood for her wedding night with the man she would have been given away to, the fact that she did not tarnish her bed with blood when she shared it with a man who was not her husband was a bit…disappointing, and he understood that._

 

_She was a perfectionist, much like him, she liked to do things the right way, even if she followed a path she had chosen herself. The previous night had meant a lot to her. To him too, of course there was the love and passion, the desire between them, but to her it also had meant something else. This first encounter had also signified freeing herself from the ties of her great name, from the duty a lady has towards her house that she never wished to fulfill. But with these perfectly white covers, her victory was stained._

 

“ _Hmm…”, he murmured and began the teasing game again which made her smile despite her slightly broody mood._

_He bit her lower lip, and she hissed, though not much out of pain but rather out of surprise, and he drew a few drops of blood that he cleaned off his teeth with a thumb and smeared on the sheets._

 

“ _That's not what I meant”, she giggled, though happy to see that he cared about her wish, which suddenly sounded very stupid in her mind._

 

“ _A man knows, but this is the most symbolism he can think of…”, he said soothing the abused lip with a soft thumb while planting feathery kisses all over her face. He knew she liked the way his lips moved against her skin, he felt the light shivers it sent through her. And her firm and skinny body pressed against his underneath him, looking so much like she was a precious treasure he was hiding from the rest of the world, did not help cool the desire that raised in him._

“ _Hmm, but now that a man thinks about it…there are many other symbolic ways to throw a girl's and a man's sins in the sight of the Gods…”, he continued with the sexiest tone his raspy voice allowed._

 

“ _Ah really?”, she asked tauntingly, biting on her lower lip, and oh- she looked so terribly irresistible, he was ready to pin her down and make her scream his name again and again until the sheets would be genuinely tainted from how hardly and roughly he would have loved her._

 

“ _Yes…”, he murmured against her heated flesh before suckling the snow white skin of her collarbone._

“ _A man could mark your body like this…”_

 

_A high pitched moan escaped her lips as he suctioned her nipple and left it reddened and aching._

 

“ _Or like this…”_

 

_He settled on a spot right above her left breast, licked and kissed it fervently before devouring the soft flesh, which made her arch her back and moan a little before he lightly buried his teeth in her. He admired the purple mark appear in delight as if it were a real work of art, before he kissed his way up until his lips were on her flushed and smiling face again._

 

“ _Or he could carve his name into your skin with a sharpened blade…or carry you to a hill bathed in sunlight and love you underneath the open sky like the Dothraki for all the Gods to see… or fill you with my seed until your belly swollen with a child of ours…”, the last thought quite lingered in his mind. Oh- how lovely she would look with the curves of a mother to be…_

 

“ _Would a man like that?”, he caught the shyness in her question._

 

_Of course, he had sensed the tightness and unease radiating off her last night when they were with the little Sam, mostly present because of how intently he must have looked at her. Too intently, maybe, he was a bit disappointed in himself that he could not restrain it and that he had made his intentions a little too clear. When she had left he had hoped he did not scare her off._

 

_He had not actually needed her help to recount the bedtime tales to the little one, but he was quite sure she knew that too. He knew the tale of Nymeria of the Rhoyne, he had just wanted to see how she reacted near children, because even if he never spoke about it and rarely ever thought about it since he had gone through the process of becoming No one, founding a family had always remained a secretly kept goal of his since childhood. A real family, living under the same roof, like he always wanted as a young boy. Despite his stoic and usual unfeeling appearance, he found nothing as cheerful and desirable than a warm home filled with innocent laughter and the sound of little feet running in the corridors._

 

_He had been a bit disappointed at first when he saw how tense she had felt in the company of the small one. But then she had started to recount her favorite story, and the unease was erased as she forgot about the Lorathi's presence, and it had jolted a bit of hope back in him. And then, when he returned her sword and she started speaking about how he behaved around children, he had been thrilled to consider fulfilling his dream again._

 

“ _Yes, would a girl?”, he said, eyes meeting hers. She caressed his cheek tenderly, so tenderly it almost felt unlike her._

 

“ _I had never thought about having children… of my own, not before last night. But when I saw you holding that one I just…I thought that if it were with you, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.”, she murmured before planting a kiss on his stupid grin._

 

_It was ridiculous, really, to dream about such unrealistically happy and honeyed fates. It was very unlike them. They were no knight and princess in distress like in the songs they both despised. But they could not help it, they both imagined their future selves surrounded by the family they could build someday. They forgot about the war. They dreamed. Worse, they dreamed together._

_They let the flame consume them again._

 

“ _Do you think a man can pass down the red hair to his children?”, she dared ask, eyes sparkling with idealistic cheerfulness. She allowed it, thinking that if they were to become mad on this very moment, they may as well become it fully._

 

“ _Hmm, a man doesn't know… Maybe a man and a lovely girl will have to make a bunch of them before they figure that out…”, he entered her game._

 

They did not leave the bed until they were summoned for dinner after this conversation, passionate lovemaking had followed. Jaqen felt the blood rush through him as images of every single one of their encounter since that afternoon flashed in his mind.

 

If they ever thought they were mad before, now they were truly doomed. A mere glance across the yard was enough to set them both aflame.

 

He remembered how she had pushed him towards the emptied armory one morning, getting rid of his clothes so quickly that he thought she would start to ride him before they made it to the door.

 

Or yesterday evening, he recalled with a smile how she had purposely not waited until they were in his bedroom and kissed him in the corridor in front of the gushing handmaidens. She had done so because she had recognized the woman with whom he had been before she went South, Jaqen knew, it was written on her triumphing face when they heard the lassies start to whisper. He could not help but chuckle. It was childish, but he was not surprised.

 

The thought of her boiling with jealousy had felt like a wave of male pride engulfing his whole being, or at least for a few seconds before the guilt kicked in again. If not for his northern assassin's strange behavior, he would not even have spotted the tall and voluptuous maiden. In truth, he had almost forgotten what she was like, he had never truly looked at her, nor taken the time to discuss with her.

 

He only had scarcely observed her before this whole accursed southern betrothal-thing, just enough to know that she was a bit impish and concentrated on looks and appearances, and that had been enough information to convince him that she could be a perfect tool for his plan. She wanted the 'mysterious Essosi' in her bed only to brag about it in the middle of her gushing sessions with the other handmaidens. She had not been interested in him, he had been in no way attracted to her. He did his thing, she was somewhat satisfied, and it was done for the two of them. They never existed. But sometimes when he looked into his lovely girl's stormy eyes, he recalled never feeling as disgusted with himself than after this encounter.

 

He had been with women and men in the past, for tasks regarding the many faced God. He had never cared much about the concept of intimacy with another being before, he had even enjoyed it once or twice, but it had only been a physical relief, he had never allowed his mind to get tricked into it. Before her, it was just faces he was fucking without thinking about the act too much and for a peculiar purpose that had nothing to do with affinity or feelings.

 

But her, oh, _her_. She would roll her eyes and call him stupid or ridiculous (or both) should he try to find the right words to tell her. But sometimes, he recited the verses he had once learned in his head while his eyes were on her. When they made love, but also when he surveyed her from a far, or when they trained, with the melody of clashing steel putting rhythm in his poems and creating an enchanting air.

 

She was a trap to his selflessness, perhaps even sent by the God himself to test his willpower, and he had consciously jumped in the snares with both feet bound, blind to anything else. He did not even find the words in his mind to explain to himself what he was feeling. It was just desire, desire to be with her. No purpose, no plans, no calculations. And he knew she understood this, and he could worship her every minute of his life until his death for forgiving him for his stupidity over and over.

 

But still, he could not lie to himself. Nothing aroused him more than her momentary excesses of possessiveness, her urges to take control. He always grinned like an idiotic and enamored boy at the sight of her fuming, which surely did not help her with her anger.

 

The sound of a strong gust of wind crashing against the window pulled him from his reverie. A storm had launched a few hours ago, and surely surprised the last southern soldiers who were still on the way from Winterfell to the Lust River.

 

“I hope the cold won't take too many soldiers…I have to say you're adapting quite well for an Essosi.”

 

“A man has someone keeping him warm here.”, he murmured teasingly, a smirk forming on his lips.

“It will be very different on the battlefield.”, he said, and he felt the arrogance creep out of his eyes.

 

He caught her clenching her teeth. The battle was lurking at them with it's vicious eyes, getting closer each second, and the fear of losing the other again and again was clutching at their guts, it's hold getting tighter every time their eyes met. These few days of calm had been like the unbearably tense stillness before the storm, turning every breathing person in the North crazy. The days were both incredibly long and too short at the same time, the way the hours passed was confusing, and everyone had lost track of the flowing time. All had enjoyed the few hours left of their lives in a disoriented manner, as if each second were their last.

 

And if some of them were to survive this war, they would see an incredible amount of bastards come into the world in a couple of moons. Of course, everyone had been scared of death and enjoyed the pleasures of life. Jaqen could not help but dolefully wonder if a bastard of his own too had nestled in her womb as his fingers lazily traced the slight curve of her waist. He immediately shut the voice in his head that told him that he would never know.

 

“I swear that if you don't come back, I'll gather all the priestesses of Asshai and all the damned believers of the Red God I can find to make you breathe the air again just so I can slap your pretty face hard and kill you myself.”, she threatened, her voice as strong and unbending as the steel in her eyes.

 

He tried to hide the sadness in his chuckle and held her tighter, planted a kiss on her forehead.

 

“Valar Morgh- _Ouch_!”, he chortled as she pinched his nipple.

 

“The Others take your accursed _Valar Morghulis_.”

 

She closed her eyes, traced his features delicately as if she were blind again, only seeing through the tips of her long fingers. He knew what she was doing. She wished to remember every single detail of his face, from the emplacement of each tiny little scar to the exact number of eyelashes. When she was done, she nestled her head in his neck, filled her lungs with his scent of ginger and cloves, felt the soft texture of his red and white hair.

 

He felt her ribcage move in his muscled arms, let his hands wander on her silky snowy skin. At some point he closed his eyes too to feel her more.

 

“You better come back too, lovely girl.”

 

A grin shadowed on his face for a flicker of a second when a thought crossed his mind again. He _might_ have considered chaining her to one of the walls of this castle to prevent her from going with them. Just for the time of the battle, so that she would be unable to leave for the fight, and she would stay safe, home. He had thought this through a few times, actually. He could plot with her sister, the Lady Sansa of Winterfell, give her the key of her wild little sister's chains so she could free her should he not come back or should they have to flee Westeros and leave for Essos.

 

But he had scratched this idea, as tempting as it may sound. First because he had taken enough decisions in her place, he had plotted enough against her for her to forgive him another time, and he would not lose her for such a stupid and selfish plan. And secondly because even if she were to be bound with eight different kinds of chains that prevented her from moving the slightest bit, she would still manage to get out of the bonds one way or another. He had trained her after all. And she was not one to be caged, she had never stayed trapped for very long in her life.

 

He had no other choice than letting her go again.

 

_Why must we always part?_

 

_Is this the price? For leaving the service of the Red God? Does it amuse the Him?_

 

_He let the flame grow, ravage everything and then, when nothing is left but pure yearn and need for you in me, tear us apart and rip our enslaved hearts_

 

He would have expected this last day and night to be quite intense. So intense that he had feared that the both of them would have been sore and unable to fight the Great Battle. No one had dared to knock or even get close to the door of her chambers by fear of disturbing them. But, much to his surprise, and probably much to hers too, they had spent the whole day together under the covers, tangled in each other's arms, barely talking, merely cuddling.

 

Jaqen knew Arya Stark. He knew her very well. Arya Stark was not tender, nor was he. She liked raw passion, perhaps a little too raw and crude sometimes. He could not really blame her, for it was what made her the wild and untamed girl that she was and whom he enjoyed so much. But she was not one to _cuddle_. Only then did he truly face the closeness to their own grave, which was affecting them too, even two faceless assassins who had toyed with death itself many times before. Only then did Jaqen genuinely realize how near the end was.

 

He felt his eyes burn, tightened his grip on her. He fixed the canopy and concentrated on breathing slowly before he trapped her head in his neck. She must not see him weak, not see him weak, not see him weak-

 

It was when he felt the burning wet trail run down the skin of his nape that he lost it. She was crying. He felt her skinny frame slightly shake in his broad arms, she did not make a sound, he knew she tried to hinder her quiet sobs as well.

 

And he buried his face in her hair, took a deep breath in as if to rebuild his shattered strength.

 

_We will win this war_

 

*

 

Author's Note: If you can listen to music while reading, I suggest you listen to this in the background while reading the following part: [Targaryen/Stark theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jReituP_6rA)

 

A few incredibly long hours passed before Samwell Tarly said it was time for Daenerys to push. Jon swiped away some beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead each time he heard her wail and cry out in pain. He had already barked at a few nurses who had told him they could not give his Queen anything to ease her ache. He had regretted his harsh words immediately, they were so unlike him, he had apologized right away, but her cries had tensed him so that he could hardly recognize himself.

 

The snowflakes and chunks of ice crashed against the window, the early shines were starting to light up near the horizon line when Daenerys let out a long and loud scream. Jon ran his hand through his curls nervously, clenched his teeth. His hand was feeling numb because of how tight she was holding onto it. He had never seen pain on her face. It felt utterly strange, he wondered how awful it must have felt for her to actually let the pain show through. He smelled the scarlet drenching the sheets, flowing from her parted legs. He brushed the sweat off her flushed face, looked deeply into her gleaming purple eyes.

 

“One more push your Grace, I can feel his head already!”, Sam managed out of breath, as if he were the one realizing the effort.

 

His tan-colored healer's blouse had been generously painted in her blood. He was clearly overwhelmed by the situation which made Jon even more nervous.

 

“Sam?”, he frowned after seeing the scientist's expression change and hearing him take in a deep and trembling breath.

 

“Jon…”, her voice was weak and tired.

 

The blood was flowing, her grip loosened.

 

“ _SAM_?!”, he made the walls quiver this time.

 

He turned his head from Daenerys to Sam so quickly he thought he would be sick. She was still pushing, Sam looked still worried, and no one would respond to him and he was going crazy.

 

“Sam, what's happening?!”, Jon urged with an authoritarian tone to force the lad to answer him.

 

Dany screamed, and that was the most awful sound Jon had ever heard. The dragons tensed up outside, answered her cries, and the little ivory dragon that was still in the room and had not moved before took part in the song, which scared the nurses.

 

“Something is wrong…”, she whispered exhausted.

“I feel it Sam, wh-what is it?”, she managed, still catching her breath and clutching at Jon's hand as another wave of pain fell on her.

 

“O-One more push your grace, we-we're almost there…”, Sam encouraged, still a worried look on his face.

 

Jon looked back at her, smoothed her damp hair and whispered soothing words to her. The maids ran damp cloths on her sweaty forehead, but that seemed to help very little.

 

She gave that last push everything that she had left.

 

 _Everything will be alright…_ , he prayed.

 

She concentrated on her shaky breath, regained the tiniest bit of strength. Sam gave Jon a look, and he held his Queen tighter.

 

“O-one more…”, Sam ordered, and Jon did his best not to explode for he looked utterly confused.

 

The bed was a pool of blood. She winced as the nurses settled her on her back.

 

She did her best to seal her lips when another wave of pain kicked in. The babe was still not out, he was killing her from inside. Jon shifted nervously, kept looking into her eyes and wished he could give her some strength. The seconds were long and torturing, draining each drop of strength from all of them. Jon prayed, he prayed again and again to whoever might be listening.

 

_Please, let them live, let them live, let them live, take my life if You must…_

 

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his head against hers when she let out the next wail.

 

And after interminable minutes of cries of pain and beading sweat and flowing blood, Jon heard the babe scream.

 

It shouted like a little dragon spreading it's wings for the first time, finally free from any restraint, and his brothers outside answered, as well as Ghost whose howl pierced the cold air of the morning.

 

He looked at the tiny breathing bundle of bloody skin in Sam's hands, which was given to a nurse to take care of. Everyone in the room let out a sigh of release and a mollified cry.

 

“Show me-show him to me…”, Daenerys pleaded with a trembling voice.

 

The nurse approached as she cleaned the blood off the babe's face and wrapped it in many layers of linen cloth and furs. She settled the child on Daenery's heaving chest. She was still bleeding profusely, but the blood and the pain vanished when purple irises locked on purple sprinkled with chestnut.

 

_A gift from the Heavens…_

 

“It's a girl, your graces.”

 

The Queen smiled, and a single tear escaped her gleaming eyes as she looked at the perfection they had crafted. It took their daughter less than a fraction of a second to steal both their hearts.

 

_How could such perfection be crafted in a world as awful as the one we live in?_

 

“She's perfect…”, Jon breathed out, eyes fixated on the two women he held the dearest in the world.

 

For a few seconds, the scene almost felt whimsical, as if the three of them were suddenly shielded from everything bad and vile. Nothing existed but their gorgeous daughter, nothing else, not the White Walkers and the War, not the dragons or the prophecies, not even the maids swarming around and cleaning off the blood. For an instant, it was pure delight.

 

And then Daenerys shrieked.

 

The nurse hastily took back the babe, fear caught a hold back of Jon's guts as Dany fidgeted and wailed. She hissed and stretched her arms when her daughter was ripped from her arms, but then clutched at her lower stomach.

 

“She's bleeding.”, Sam stated, clearly overwhelmed.

“Bring more linen cloths!”

 

He was panicking. _Sam_ was panicking. Sam always kept his cool when a situation was out of control. But right now emergency was ruling over him. So Jon boiled up.

 

No one would answer to him when he asked what was wrong again and again. For another long hours the scene felt unreal, and nothing seemed to ease the growing pain nor the fear eating him from inside.

 

“Jon, Jon y- Lightbringer…”, she whispered, exhausted from the agony, tears dry on her flushed face.

 

A heavy weight fell upon him. He looked at her confused, thinking she must be speaking nonsense because of the pain.

 

“My heart…Light-”

 

“Daenerys…”, he muttered.

“You'll get through this, Sam can do it! Right Sam?!”

 

The lad did not answer.

 

“Sam?!”

 

“No, Jon now, I knew, I-I knew, you must…plunge L-Longclaw-”

 

He hushed her, prayed to all the Gods he knew of again.

 

_No no no no…_

 

_Don't let her be ripped away from me, I will beg, I shall give my own life-_

 

“Jon-it has to be Nissa Nissa's beating heart…if you love me enough, it-it's the prophecy…”, she urged him.

 

“No, I'm not- Listen, Sam will fix you, and everything will be fine, you will stay there and-”

Everything was still in the room.

“Sam! Why are you not doing anything?! Save her! Why are you all staring!”, he shouted, louder than he intended.

 

“Jon…She's loosing her blood… There is nothing I can do-”

 

“Then go fetch the maester, or- or…”, tears welled up in his eyes, he put his hand on her belly, prayed for it to stop bleeding so much…

“There must be something, she-she was fine minutes ago! Do something!”, his voice broke. It looked unreal, all of it. Everything happened too fast.

 

“Do something, bring her some water, or-or…”

He caught his breath.

“Daenerys, please, my Queen, love…”

 

“No, I knew…I knew-”

 

He shushed her again.

 

She hissed in pain, and blood spilled on his leather coat, the babe was crying it's lungs out, Ghost would not stop howling outside and the dragons stressed out and all Jon wanted was just a bit of silence to handle the situation… But he did not get silence, only the sound of the whole world urging him, and he was turning mad, he suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous.

 

“End my pain, please…”, she begged, and her voice sounded nothing like the powerful dragon Queen that she was.

 

He could not believe what he just heard. The scene felt absurd, as if he were watching some bad mummer's play, and there was nothing he could do from his spectator's seat to improve the story.

 

“No.”, he shook his head sturdily.

 

She begged a second time with her eyes, and that look broke his heart beyond repair. She wailed again, and he begged for it to stop, he could not hear her pain anymore.

 

“Dany…”, he breathed, and he did not believe himself.

“No-No no no, this-all this-No!”, the tears threatened to fall, he clutched at her and saw the force escape her being. All the thoughts crashed in his head, but No! He could not do this thing!

 

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world stilled.

 

He took a step back, considered the situation once again.

 

The plea in her eyes did not change.

 

He took a deep breath in to try to calm himself.

 

He looked deeply in her purple eyes, and his trembling hand caught the hilt of Longclaw.

 

His thoughts blurred and evaporated until his mind was fully blank.

 

He was not Jon Snow anymore. He felt something in him shift, and he had no control left on his own movements.

 

“You will tell Rhaenna that I love her.”, the tears were glistening on her cheeks, mingling with the sweat and the blood, quenching the lively fire that had always burnt in her.

“You will tell her about me, the Targaryens…”

 

He nodded, as if under some strange spell that controlled his actions. He did his best to keep the tears from falling. This must not be the last picture she sees.

 

“Avy jorrāelan.”

 _I love you_ , she breathed out before closing her eyes one last time.

 

 

 

When Jon paced out of the castle before mounting Rhaegar, the little ivory dragon was on his shoulder, and Longclaw was coated in blood.

 

All eyes were on him, awaiting for his orders. When he was settled on Rhaegar's back, the others were on a white eyed Drogon, ready to dive into battle. He did not feel powerful, he did not feel like a King leading his men into battle. He just felt the rage and the sorrow. The little dragon shrieked in his place. He raised on his dragon, tried to give himself the tiniest bit of composure, all he could gather.

 

And the silver dragon spread it's small wings and took off for the first time. Only then did Jon allow the tears to fall. He watched her raise in the sky, higher and higher, translucent wings battling against the strong wind, and he felt the snow freeze his cheeks, and the salt cling onto them.

 

_Sōvegon, kraj zaldrīzes_

_Fly, mighty dragon_

 

He took one second to breathe, to look at the sky one last time before the end would begin.

 

_Sōvegon, Daenera_

_Fly, Daenera_

 

And as Daenera rose up in the air, Jon brandished his bloody sword. And when the desire to win this war against Death took over his whole being again, when the fervor of fighting against all odds and defeat this macabre fate burnt again inside of him, when the flame of vengeance filled his lungs and made him explode with raging hope inside, he shouted out his boldness, and the dragon's blood painting his steel caught on fire.

 

Azor Ahai was born again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think?
> 
> Please, leave a comment! Did you see that coming?
> 
> Check out my other works, I have more Jaqarya and an original story!
> 
> Art by @emmney.art


	25. With Fire and Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back!
> 
> It's been a month, I kinda lost track of time, sorry for that ;)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one despite the delay!

The room was warm, quiet. A total contrast with the surging storm of mingled terror and nervousness going on in Sansa's head.

 

She closed her eyes to utter a quick prayer. She did not know whom she was addressing it to, the Gods had never answered her calls, but she prayed anyway, to whoever was not too busy to listen to her despaired pleas.

 

This prayer was for Arya.

 

She knew how this war had been organized. All the soldiers were separated in three waves, depending on their location. When two groups fought, one rested, and they took turns. There was no other option, since the undead did not need to sleep or sustain themselves, and the living could not keep on fighting forever without tiring. She knew who was part of which wave. Arya and Brienne, the first. Sandor, the second. She had all the others written on a piece of parchment somewhere, to remember who to pray for on which day and on which hour of the day. She had addressed more prayers than she could count in the passed two days.

 

And Jon, she prayed continuously for Jon. He was not part of any wave. His only goal was to pierce through the Night King with his inflamed sword. She knew he would dive in and cross the battlefield without stopping, without even glancing at the obstacles between the Undead King and himself as soon as he would land.

 

And when he would be done, he would plunge it into Rh'llor himself should he cross his path, as well as in any book that ever told or even mentioned the prophecy of the Prince that was Promised, and in anyone who would be crazy enough to speak the names of Azor Ahai or Nissa Nissa.

 

In all the years she had spent with him, Sansa had never seen him in such rage, in such a state of fuming hatred towards everything when he got out of the bedroom where Daenerys had shed her last breath. He looked terrifying, his sword soaked in the blood of his beloved, pure madness emanating from him. Her eyes had met his before he took off, and never in her entire life had she seen eyes so empty and dark. His expression had been gentler for a faction of a second when he had seen that she had been cradling his daughter, up there on the balcony.

 

The baby shifted in her arms, pulling her from her reverie. Sansa had been the only one to take care of her since her birth, two days ago already. She did not let the wet nurses approach her. She took care of feeding her, bathing her, cradling her herself. She cuddled her and covered her with love, she even sang to appease her when the wind howled outside. At night too, she kept her in her own room, even if that meant waking up several times to rock and calm the newborn down. She did not sleep anyway. She was too afraid for them, desperately fighting in the unmerciful cold. She kept on tossing and turning in her huge bed, wishing there was someone with her, to reassure her, to whisper in her ear that she would not be alone when all of this would be done. Fatigue could be seen on her face, digging hard onto her usually soft features, but there was nothing she could do. She would not rest until they would all be home and safe. Even if that meant she would never find rest again until the end of her days.

 

Jon had strictly commanded that if Bran saw that the living were not winning, they must flee to Essos. But Sansa did not want to think about this possibility. Her place was here, as was Jon's, and Arya's, and Bran's and everyone's, and these lands were not about to yield against the dead, not after everything they went through.

 

The fearful questions kept rushing in her mind, she did not achieve to hush the voices.

 

_This is not the way it ends, right?_

_After what everyone went through, this could not be the end, could it?_

 

_I do know the Gods are unfair_

_I do know fates are unfair_

_I have lived one myself_

 

_But there must still be some hope in this world, right?_

_Some kindness, some tenderness to hold onto?_

 

“Here is something you must know, little princess.”, she said with a kind voice, softly bouncing the small one.

“People will try to hurt you. They will try to break you. The Gods will too, or whoever is above us. So they have done to your mother, so they have done to your father…They will be unmerciful. May they have the cold eyes of an Other or the warm eyes of a mother. People will not be kind. You must be brave and learn from your mistakes.”, she ordered, looking into purple irises sparkled with chestnut.

 

She gently ran a finger on the silver strands of hair already crowning the future Queen's head.

 

“With time you will know who do trust. You will become wise. But remember, all people are not able to change. Kings and Queens were betrayed before because of such mistakes, Kings and Queens will be betrayed in the future because of these same mistakes. History does not repeat itself but it often rhymes.”

 

She stared out the window.

 

“And on this day, history will either end or be written.”

 

*

 

The battle was long. Tiresome. Stinky.

 

The living were being cut down like corn. Luckily they managed to destroy more white walkers than the other way around.

 

The cold was unmerciful. Arya had no idea where Jaqen was, nor Jon nor anyone. She was surrounded by foreign faces, some with the eyes of the living, others with eyes as blue as frost. The living shouted before they dived into battle, some shitted their pants. Lesser actually knew how to fight. But they all tried. Everyone, no matter the colors on their shield, followed this one goal: survive.

 

Everything was fast. She struck there with her dragonglass dagger. She pierced the other way with her spear. She dodged an attack, jumped on the ground as an undead horse ran towards her. She quickly got up before anyone-or anything- could crush her. Sometimes she took an instant to breathe. Not too long, it could be fatal.

 

She was tired. The battle had been going on for too long. The dawn of a new day was cracking. At least she had made it another day, she thought.

 

The corpses kept on coming, they never stopped. The dragons were flying and breathing flames upon the battlefield. The fire never died. The unceasing sound of steel clashing and men wailing and dead running never lowered.

 

There was no strength left in her muscles. She was a trained assassin, but war was something else than single combat entirely. The adrenaline rushing in her veins had exhausted her, as well as her never ending prayers. It had been long since Arya Stark had not prayed. But the girl panting on the battlefield here was not Arya Stark. She was another fighter close to the grave. She was another lively face amongst many others. She was No one, surrounded by other no ones, who together formed the Living.

 

And, like everyone else, for each second that passed, she prayed for the loved ones that had followed her into battle to be still breathing. She was nervous, yet she felt the bravery run through her. If this had to be her last day, then so be it. She would have spent it fighting for the best cause.

 

She dodged another rushing White. _Slash_. He was not anymore.

 

There must have been some truth behind these words she once learned:

 

_Valar Morghulis_

 

She accepted it. This was the fate of all things. But first, they live.

 

_Valar Dohaeris_

 

She was serving. But the Living, this time.

 

Someone must have destroyed a White Walker somewhere, for half of the group in front of her suddenly exploded in sharp shards of ice. She covered her face, but some frost blades still crushed on her visage, leaving new scars.

 

Another group rushed towards her, as if driven by some sudden rage. There were more of them this time. She pushed herself up the dirty ground, took a deep breath in. One slice, two, three.

 

She felt a hard hit on the back of her leg. Bleeding. Cursing. No time.

 

Another hit, on the side of the face this time. The sound the corpses made, that breathy shriek, was unbearable. She wanted to shut them. All of them. She waved her spear in the air around her, maybe hit one or two.

 

_Bang_

 

That one strike behind her head hurt.

 

_Damn it_

 

There was another deafening sound. Not from the whites this time. Ringing. From inside her head. Her rigid muscles were hard to move. They were too sore and frozen.

 

She felt the warm blood trickle down her neck, and suddenly she felt the freezing snow against her cheek. Her vision blurred. There might have been too much for her to handle on her own.

 

Everything swayed. She felt dizzy and nauseous, the whiteness of the snow was suddenly blinding.

 

Another wave of shouts. She could not make up if these were the shrieks of the living or of the dead. And a growl. Maybe a dragon. She hoped it would not spit fire right where she was.

 

But it mattered very little. She did not stand a chance anyway if she remained here, laid on the ground.

 

But she could not move. She felt herself sink in the freezing ground, the sky turned above her. It was a gray sky, somehow the clouds reflected the many colors of the Dragonfire on the ground. Black, Gold, Silver. She should not be staring at the sky.

 

But she did not even have the energy to curse our shout for help.

 

The metal tang of the blood crawled in her nostrils and lingered there. There was a dull taste in her mouth, maybe the taste of mud mingled with scarlet. Mud and snow and death.

She did not have the force to check, but she was quite sure there was blood between her legs too.

 

She closed her eyes, felt her weak body being dragged through the snow. The feeling was like falling, made her dizzy and turned her stomach upside down. The freezing cold soaked in her to the bone, chilled her from inside until not a single drop of warmth remained.

 

Was she really being dragged or was she just hallucinating? And what was that pain in her abdomen?

 

She could not tell, not before everything went dark.

 

Jaqen's face flashed in her mind, she could almost feel him through the tips of her numb and cold fingers. She almost tasted a bit of hope mingled with the blood in her mouth. And everything went totally black again.

 

Finally, some silence.

 

*

 

Another shriek up in the sky. That was Bran, warging into Drogon and then Rhaegal, spitting fire whenever he could. To burn the Others but also the corpses of the defeated Living, before they could rise up again with blue eyes and serve the other side.

 

But Jon had no time to think about that.

 

The hatred gave him another set of wings. He fought. He fought like never before. He blindly destroyed everything staying on his path, following his bursting hatred.

 

He did not care about the odds. He could have been the only fighter leading this battle against two hundred thousand whites, he would have still unsheathed his sword and ran into the heap without glancing back. He could not lose, there was simply no other choice. A wave of boiling anger and courage surged in him each time he destroyed an Other, crashing in him with an incredible force, more powerful at every kill.

 

The battle was long. Yet he had no time to feel the tiredness nor the pain nor the cold. The Night King was there, somewhere, only waiting for him to plunge his inflamed sword in him. There was no waiting anymore. He would not get away one other day. He took him too much.

 

Jon did not hesitate. He dodged attacks. He got hit, he did not take the time to feel the pain. His sword plunged and spun and stroke.

 

He was _mad_.

 

_Come here_ , he called the Night King.

 

_Come fight,_ he murmured every time another White Walker was killed and a group of whites exploded in a tempest of blades.

 

He looked around. Blue eyes, shrieks and the smell of death.

 

_Don't hide_

 

The sun set and rose again, the spears flew around him and planted themselves in the blue-eyed wild animals. Bears, wolves, boors charged. Many men lost. But many Deads lost too. Each second that passed made the will to end this war stronger.

 

It was chaos. An unceasing scurrying and fussing, clangs of steel and hisses of pain. Everything was fast, like the wind slicing through their skin, like the demented thoughts swarming in his head, the voices he could not shut.

 

_Burn them all_ , they kept repeating.

 

The shouts of the living grew lower and lower with time, as grew their number. The fire remained growing however, the dragons needed very little rest. The ashes mingled with the blood and the snow, like an inferno of chaos, like the depth of the seven Hells.

 

Jon was a dragon too during this battle. He was a dragon in a wolf's skin. He had the sharpened teeth of the direwolf and the fire of the dragon burning bright within him. He felt the rage emanate from every inch of him. His fury scared them all, living or dead.

 

Finally his eyes met with the Night King, up there on a mount, looking down at the animal he had become with an irritant blankness.

 

Jon's whole body was sore. He ignored the urge to fall on his knees and beg for an end. That was not in his options. Rhaenna was waiting for him. All the Living were waiting for him. And Daenerys was watching, he knew, through the eyes of Daenera, whose flames adorned the battlefield too. She was strong and powerful for such a small dragon. She felt the furor too.

 

He trembled. He was exhausted. But too much was taken from him to end it here and now.

 

He was ready. He had waited for that for too long. He had sacrificed too much.

 

A horde of undead rushed towards him to shield their Night King. They got scorched by the red and black colored flames of Drogon. Drogon, this time, not Bran.

 

The enormous dragon was pure frenzy. He was like a demon who had crawled back from the deepest of the seven Hells, a mountain come to life, animated with rage and fire only.

 

Jon walked through the flames. He ignored the sizzling heat. He ignored the melting leather. He ignored the searing pain of his skin burning.

 

Nothing would prevent him from winning this battle. Certainly not fire. He was a dragon. Fire does not kill a dragon.

 

The cold eyes were still on him. He was blazing inside and outside.

 

_Come fight_

 

The flames on his sword rose higher. The Night King unsheathed a frozen blade. He did not descend from his horse. He remained calm as a stone until Jon started running towards him, as if all the hatred and want for revenge was suddenly bursting from the young man.

 

He did not control his force. He unleashed the devastating beast in him. And he could not recognize himself anymore.

 

A hard plunge in the horse's chest. That was for the God. That was for the prophecy of the Nissa Nissa. The Undead animal exploded in a billion ice shards, the force of the blast made Jon fly a few feet away. He was back on his feet and running back again before he even had a chance to realize.

 

He tried to gulp down. His throat was dry and tasted of blood for he had shouted too much. His eyes itched and his muscles felt numb.

 

He must fight.

 

The Night King strode towards him with an infuriating serenity. He was as sure as Jon that he would win this battle.

 

He plunged again with his blazing sword.

 

He was Azor Ahai, he had Lightbringer in his hand. And he had all the madness one would need in him to fight a mythical creature.

 

Yet when he struggled to touch the Dead King with his weapon, he felt nothing like a hero. He heard the shouts of men behind him, the shrieks of dragons, he felt the tiredness weighing him down, curving his back. He felt tiny, a tiny human fighting against an immortal God.

 

But he was Living. And the Living had something the Dead and the Gods did not.

 

Love

 

And for Love, the Living could do anything. It is the core of things, the reason for everything.

 

And Love flashed into his hopeless mind. Love at it's pure state. Love that turns mad and that would make you do anything.

 

Love had the face of his daughter.

 

And in one last move, he gave all the force, all the voice and all the energy, all the hate and all the hope he had.

 

And Lightbringer sank in the frozen flesh.

 

*

 

There was a blast. Like a strike of thunder.

 

All the whites exploded. An outburst made of millions and millions of pieces of ice as sharp as blades.

 

For one second, the battlefield was so quiet it looked like it was caught up in time.

 

And then were the shouts of the Living. They all outed what little voice they had left. For pain, for joy, for victory, for relief after the three days of Hell they endured.

 

Finally, they breathed.

 

Jaqen sank to his knees. He had never felt so exhausted. Death had been surveying all of them for the past months since they learned about this war, and now he finally felt safe from it's murderous glance.

 

It was over.

 

Death was finally in a state of serene sleep again.

 

Some men who still had the force rose to acclaim their King.

 

_King Jon! King Jon! King Jon!_

 

Their shouts were cheerful as they brandished their shreds of weapons in the air, the songs about the Prince that was Promised started to form in the cold air now filled with both joy and release.

 

He did not take the time however, even if his gratitude was beyond words towards the young King who had just saved them all from a gruesome death.

 

He rose to his feet again and he ran. He ran as fast as he could, as fast as his exhausted legs allowed. He ran east.

 

There was someone else he wanted to celebrate the victory first. He would run to her and lift her from the ground, squeeze her tight until all the dread and the worry of these past months would leave both of their souls, shower her with kisses and take her back to Winterfell and make sweet love to her, so they could celebrate life together encircled in the heat of a fire in a chimney. This was the begin of a new life.

 

The Living were already starting to retreat when he arrived after running like a mad man for more than an hour. The camp was almost entirely packed, not many men remained.

 

He rushed through the small heap, his eyes locked on cheerful eyes of chestnut, green and light blue. The eyes of the Living. But no gray eyes.

 

The flames still rose high, burning the last of the corpses. The Living still feared the dragons, but Jaqen was unmindful. He approached, he kept looking around. The snow cracked under his boots, his feet sank in the mud mingled with ashes and blood.

 

He accelerated, panted as his tired legs trembled. The camp was a maze of crumbles, he expected to see her at each corner of tent. After two hours of scrutinizing with no result, he went to to the side of the camp where the wounded were. She had to be there, he looked everywhere else. He started praying for her to not be hurt too much.

 

His eyes traveled over the shakedowns, over the bloody faces of strangers.

 

Not her, not hers, not hers.

 

Some were burnt, some missed a leg or an arm. Others shed their last breath. Maybe she was in a corner somewhere, hiding like a little mouse from all of this horror.

 

_There_

 

Hi smile grew wide, so wide his numb cheeks hurt. He ran towards her, caught her shoulders and turned her before he plunged forward to plant a hard kiss on her lips.

 

But he realized just before their lips met that it was not her.

 

_Fuck_ , the fear caught a strong hold on his guts.

 

He let the young and confused girl go, and resumed running through the camp.

 

She was not there.

 

He felt his head hurt. He looked around again for another hour, turned his head so quickly he thought he would be sick.

 

He was in the center of the camp again. Brienne of Tarth was assembling her men, counting them. Her face adorned an ugly scratch now, still fresh and bleeding. Most of her men were not intact. There were not much left, they prepared themselves and the wounded before leaving.

 

And she was not there.

 

“No…”

 

No, this was impossible. She must be on a horse, heading home already. Or perhaps she climbed on the dragon with her brother and she was enjoying the warmth of a cracking fire in her bedroom in Winterfell already. Yes, that must be it.

 

He found a horse, kicked the beast's sides and set him off galloping before he allowed himself to take the next breath. The animal flew through the snow and cut through the cold wind, faster than it had ever ran. It must have felt the man's despair, for it did not even complain when it was not told to slow down after a whole day of galloping so fast.

 

Jaqen thought about nothing as he rode. He ran, scarcely stopping to sleep for an hour of two every two days. The beast was so exhausted it had to be put down as soon as they reached Winterfell after a six days of running.

 

The few guards recognized him and let the survivor in. They looked a bit afraid of him. He must have looked like a demon crawled back from hell for they opened the heavy doors without a word and lowered their heads as the Lorathi entered. He was the first soldier to reach the castle, apparently the other men were still on the road, they would reach back in a few days. Even the dragons and the white direwolf were not here yet, surely the King had spent the days following the victory with his men and helping them. But maybe Arya was here already. Maybe she had ran back home as soon as the battle was over. She had to be there.

 

He paced in like a mad man, looking around, then started running towards the great yard, then to the Hall. Where was everyone? This huge castle felt cold and dead. He dared not enter the crypts, he nervously paced towards the chambers in the Great Keep. His boots rang in the long corridor, and warmth tickled his frozen body like tiny needles. But he payed the heat no attention. He kept looking around like he was a starved half-crazy beast looking for food.

 

He heard the sound of heeled boots from the other end of the heated building.

 

“Sansa-”, his voice was hoarse and cold, he had not spoken for a few days. Her face was paler than before, and her cheeks had sunk in.

 

For half a second it looked like she had just seen a ghost.

 

“Jaqen!”, she flew in his arms.

 

It felt odd to have her in his arms, but somehow it comforted him too. Her embrace was soft and delicate. She had no strength left either, she had battled with her mind from this castle, she had gone through hell on her own here while they were out there. He smoothed her long auburn hair, and he felt the nervousness strangle him. Why was she hugging him? Did she have something unpleasant to tell him? No, that could not be.

 

“What happened?”, she asked against his musty leather coat. He caught the fear in her question. She might think that he was the only survivor.

 

He stared at her. If she did not know, then… where was Arya?

 

“The Living won…”,he breathed, and she squeezed tighter.

 

“We won!-We wo- Oh! I'm sorry…”, she apologized before stepping back, a bit ashamed.

“We won.”, the tears gleamed at the corners of her eyes and she tried to regain her composure despite the broad smile and her sudden urge to display her emotions.

 

“When?”, she asked.

 

He counted. Somehow he had lost track of time during the endless ride.

 

“Six days ago.”, the seriousness of his tone made the joy on her face die.

 

He felt tension suffocating him during the few seconds of silence spent looking in her blue eyes.

 

“My lady, where is Arya?”, he asked anyway, knowing that she did not know more than him.

 

She frowned confused.

 

“Ar-”, her eyes grew wide.

“I-I don't know-”, she breathed heavily.

“You are the first to come back, my lord, I am without any news…”

 

He took a moment to breathe in, to fight the sudden dizziness taking over him.

 

“Your brother…can he look for her?”

 

He saw the fear brusquely take over her too.

 

“Yes- yes Bran…”, she was as frightened as him now. Her fingers shook and she became even paler than before.

“Was she not on the camp? Are you sure? Or on the road? She-she must be with Jon-”, she tried to convince them both.

“And… the others? What of them?”, her voice was broken, and his lips formed into a thin line because he had no idea what to answer her.

 

They walked nervously, almost ran towards the chambers of her younger brother.

 

*

 

The room was still as they entered. So still it made them more uncomfortable.

 

“Bran?”, she willed her voice to be soft but it shook.

 

_Arya…_ ,the voice in her head kept flashing images of the wild younger one. Sansa did her best not to cry. She wanted to. She wanted to so much. Where in the seven Hells was her little sister? She knew her. She would have ran towards this Lorathi as soon as the combat would have been over. So where in the seven Hells was she?

 

She could not be dead. No. Arya could not have gone so stupidly during a battle. _Please_ , she could not be gone. _Please, please, please, let her be with Jon…_ , she prayed again for the thousandth time.

 

Sansa had lit up instantly when she saw the tall man alive and breathing in the corridor. She had been without any news for more thana fortnight. Bran had been sleeping, he had needed to rest. Warging into a dragon and in any creature so near from the Night King and his forces had been too tiresome, he had used all of his forces. At some point, Sansa had even feared for his life, so she had ordered him to stop. He had been sleeping for days now, and she had tortured herself not to wake him up and beg him to tell her that they were all alive and well.

 

Seeing a survivor come back had been an enormous release after the Hell of loneliness and unknowing she had went through in the past days.

 

And now all she wanted to do was take a horse and go up there and find her little sister and let the tears fall while she holds her tight. Gods, she should never have let her go fight, why by all the Seven did she let her go?

 

Her little brother's eyes opened slightly. They looked glassy from sleep, and the blue in them gleamed in the light of the nearby fireplace.

 

“Bran…we won…”, the tears sparkled in her eyes again.

 

_Please, Arya, please, please, please…_ , she kept on pleading.

 

“Sansa…”, he whispered as he took her in his arms. The gesture surprised her but she leaned in. Only then did she realize that the tears now bathed her cheeks.

 

She took a few deep and trembling breaths. These tears were due to the nervousness and the fear of the past days, finally letting go of her soul and being replaced by another dread.

 

“You need to go look for Arya, we-”, she looked at the Essosi. Never had she seen a man wearing so much dismay on his face. It looked even stranger, for he who usually looked so self assured.

“We don't know where she is…”

 

She saw the fright take over him too. Her hand was still in his, warm and soft from the bed.

 

“She is probably with Jon, but-we're not sure, she could also-”

 

_Gods, where could she be?_

 

“I don't know m-maybe someone else found her…”, another tear fell. She did not try to restrain her fear anymore.

 

He nodded, a faint and despaired brightness in his eyes. He was considering the fact that she could be gone. But no, Sansa could not think about that. Arya had to be with Jon, or with Brienne, or with anyone, or even alone on the road. But she had to be somewhere.

 

The next second his eyes went white.

 

She felt his fingers squeeze around hers, sparking hope in her.

 

“Is she-”

 

“Sandor Clegane is with Jon.”, he spoke softly, a smile shadowing on his face. Sansa let out a sigh of release, but the fear did not let go of her.

“They will be there soon.”

 

“Is she with them?”

 

His smile died. She watched his eyes travel from left to right, again and again, faster then slower. He shifted in the bed. He kept looking for long minutes.

 

And his eyes came back to blue.

 

And a stare full of sorrow locked on Sansa's.

 

For another long second her thoughts froze. And she heard Jaqen tense up.

 

_No_

 

“No…”

 

_No, no, no, no, no…_

 

“Look again-please, my lord”, the Lorathi ordered with his warm accent, which contrasted with the broken din of his voice.

 

Bran did.

 

“Look where Jon was before taking off-or where Brienne is, or maybe she is still on the battlefield, surely you can check there…”, she pleaded, her voice almost a whisper.

 

She had to be somewhere there. She had to.

 

The room was too still for another dozen of long minutes. Sansa clenched her teeth so hard she thought her jaw would break. She concentrated on breathing to not pass out. The waiting was unbearable.

 

And Bran's eyes came back to blue, with that same sorrow in them.

 

He said nothing, only stared blankly at the sheets.

 

“No.”, Jaqen kept repeating.

 

“Bran-”, Sansa pleaded, the tears falling suddenly profusely. Her voice was broken in a thousand pieces.

“No-”, she wailed, crumbling.

 

He squeezed her hand, and she heard the tears collide against the furs displayed on the bed and the flapping of dragon's wings outside, which did very little to cover her sobs.

 

“Sansa, this has been a difficult battle-”, Bran continued, detached.

 

She felt a rip in her chest, her heart bleed. The weight in her throat was strangling her, her body was suddenly as cold as the snow outside.

 

The Lorathi was holding his face in his hands and shaking his head like a mad man. At some point Sansa heard him destroy his hand against the wall of stone and hiss in both pain and lament. He cursed and sank to his knees. Sansa was sure he did not sleep since the end of the battle, six days from now.

 

The door burst open.

 

“We wo-”, Jon's next words died in his throat as well as the cheerful smile on his face when his eyes caught the sight of Sansa sobbing, Bran's blank expression and the Lorathi going insane near to the ground.

 

He looked around the room before understanding.

 

“Where's Arya?”, he breathed out the question.

 

But he was not expecting any answer. It was not a real question, but the beginning of a realization.

 

The air in the room was suddenly stiff and hard to breathe, only Sansa's quiet sobs could be heard along with the cracking of the revived embers. Jon took a step back, and shifted nervously on his feet before gulping down.

 

He paced out hurriedly, his face pale and dazed, as if he had just been hit in the back of the head.

 

The Lorathi flew from the ground and ran after him, his eyes almost as red as his hair and his face a dull shade of the usual warm gold. He almost tripped in exhaustion before he made his way out of the room, but he still managed to go after the young King.

 

And so Sansa was left alone, crying her eyes out in the arms of her little brother. Despite his blankness he seemed to feel some sorrow too.

 

_Arya…_

 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters have been a little intense lately... thanks for keeping up ;) What did you think about this one?
> 
> How do you think things will go in the seven kingdoms now, who's gonna end up on that throne?  
> Leave a comment :)


	26. A Throne For The Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi
> 
> First of all:  
> Our illustrator met Maisie Williams. Boom.  
> Check her out on instagram at @emmney.art , she does some cool GoT fanarts and other amazing stuff ;)
> 
> Have a nice read! (I don't know if that's an actual expression)

“I'm coming with you, your grace”, Jaqen forgot his usual speech pattern.

 

The young King nodded, kept on accelerating towards the dragon, who was tensing up in the great yard, scaring the young people arriving back home. Surely the beast felt the men's dismay.

 

“We'll start with the battlefield, then fly over the road and stop at every group we find and search.”

 

He stopped abruptly, looked at the foreign man.

 

“We will find her.”, he squeezed his arm, and Jaqen was thankful for the attempt at comforting him. But he saw in his eyes that he was unsure, and he felt something in him break. There was something deeply hurting about a leader showing his dismay too.

 

He felt only the unmerciful cold toy with the shatters of his aching heart and tried to convince himself despite the odds. The King may doubt, but he was sure. They would find her.

 

But there was nothing.

 

They looked for three long days, from the break of dawn to the dead of the night.

 

And nothing.

 

Arya had disappeared. Each day of unfruitful search drained them, physically and mentally. The winter was trying to kill the hope in them. But they refused to admit it.

 

They scarcely rested. They were both slowly going mad. Sorrow and fear dug hard on their faces. It was as if time had stopped. Nothing had a taste, and not even the cheerful laugh of a babe would be enough to make the Lorathi feel even the shadow of an emotion again.

 

After four days of search, they still refused to see reason. In four days, they had flown over almost the whole North, they had scouted every raid of soldiers on the roads. Their confidence was almost extinct, but they kept going back every day, like ghosts executing a task they don't even remember the reason for. They had not recovered from the battle yet, they had not even taken the time to tend their wounds.

 

The exhausted foreigner caught Sansa's empty glare when he walked back from he kitchen that night. He had eaten a bit without appetite, just enough for his body not to faint the next day. She looked dead inside, only the newborn daughter she was holding could steal a tender smile from her. The tears had deformed her pretty face once filled with summer and joy. She spent her days taking care of the young princess, and her nights in the crypts. She had become a ghost too, but only she was facing the truth.

 

She raised her eyes to him. They were full of pity and empathy.

 

_No, this cannot be the truth_

 

A heavy weight caught a strong hold of his throat, suddenly strangled him. He needed a minute. He could not crumble before her.

 

There was still hope. They could still find her somewhere in this North that went on forever, he tried to convince himself for the thousandth time. He could not break, she was out there waiting for him. He could not break, _he could not break_ …

 

He paced hurriedly to Arya's room.

 

The fire was embers. Needle was still in the corner of the room. She had not taken it on the battlefield, it was not Valyrian steel. Just like him, the blade waited for her to come back, to resume her life, as if she were about to burst in the room and pick it up before daring him to defeat her in single combat.

 

The sheets on the bed were crumpled from their last night together. Her scent still lingered on the feathery pillows, this perky scent of arrogance and steel and winter. Sometimes he would run his hand on the soft furs, imagine her sleeping there peacefully. A tear rolled down his cheek. Yes, she could be there, sleeping quietly. And she would turn her head as she wakes, open her gleaming eyes slowly and smile at him with that usual fierce expression only she has the secret of…

 

But the bed was empty, and the salt clang to his face. There was only an empty shadow in the room.

 

He had become less than a dead man, only an empty shell somewhat resembling his former self since the end of the battle. Sometimes he even wished he would have not survived, so he would not have to go through this. It made him feel like a coward, but maybe he was one. Where was the courage in pretending to be no one for an entire life and being brought back to life by a little girl? And where was the courage in crumbling when this girl disappeared?

 

 

The sun rose again, the first lights started to appear beneath the horizon line. Jaqen had only slept for a few hours, there, hidden in the corner of the room near the soft heat of the dying fire. During the whole night, he had woken up in between dreams and nightmares. Each of these dreams were like a slice in his heart. She did not look like the real Arya in them. Sometimes he only heard her voice calling him while he was drowning in the snow. In other nightmares she was there close to him, he could almost feel her white skin against him, but when he stretched his arm to touch her she was too far, she was being pulled by a horde of blue-eyed demons and she was debating, but there was nothing he could do but fight against the invisible chains holding him. And he screamed again and again for death to let go of her, for her to come back to him, but no one seemed to hear.

 

Each time he woke up panting, and reality was like a hard blow in his face again, it hurt even more than these torturing dreams. Even sleep brought him no rest.

 

He pushed himself up, his legs trembled and he felt nauseous. His body would not be able to take much more of this. And they were running out of places to scout. But he still refused to face it.

 

He met with the young King in the yard, the cold attacking his weak being, eating up his hopeless mind.

 

They stared at each other for a minute, unsure if they should continue or not. Jaqen looked around him. The castle was empty, if one knew how full it was before. People were slowly recovering from the battle, they celebrated life, prayed and sang to the Gods and to the King, they resumed their former lives, started working again, buried and cried for their dead, moved on.

 

_How could a man continue living without her?_

 

He was no one without her. Only she had found the person within him when he had tried to annihilate him for years. Only she had woken him up from his facelessness. She had no right to abandon him after giving him a taste of what real life was. No, that was too cruel, she could not…

 

Jon placed a hand on the man's shoulder, and his look made something in him crack.

 

It was time to accept.

 

No, no, he was not ready, he could never. They must keep looking-

 

“My Lord-”

 

The giant white wolf tensed up, as if feeling the foreigner's reluctance.

 

Jaqen clenched his teeth, to prevent himself from breaking. Truth was, he was not even sure if he had enough energy to break more, he was not sure if there was anything left to shatter in him.

 

They had looked everywhere, he knew. There was only one place she could be. He knew it. His reason knew it. But no, his heart was not ready to hear it.

 

The wolf tensed up again, as if understanding the situation. His red eyes traveled fast, he started growling and snarling.

 

_Arya Stark…_

 

No, that was a nightmare. That scene could not be real. They could not stop searching now, she could not be simply gone after all the efforts they put into finding her. They must look more, scout the places they have not thoroughly scouted enough again. Maybe she was in the depth of the forest hiding from bears, or maybe she found a deserted inn hidden by a blanket of snow and she was waiting there-

 

Jaqen shook his head. _This could not be the truth_.

 

And then the animal howled, like a call to death itself.

 

“Ghost-”, the King's voice broke. The young King tried to calm the beast, the tears sparkled in his eyes.

 

The direwolf refused to hear. He howled again.

 

“Ghost, please-”

 

Another howl.

 

From outside the castle.

 

The men looked at each other. And the albino wolf started running towards the gate. They ran after him, none of them sure why. Was it stupid to feel the hope build up in him again? Maybe, but Jaqen did not take the time to shatter it and protect himself from a potential deception. He just ran.

 

The next second he was in front of the open gate, he stopped when he saw the heap of gathered people.

 

He blinked. Once, twice, thrice.

 

And his heart stopped.

 

Another direwolf was there in the middle of the heap of people, bigger than a horse, gray fur and eyes like honey and steel.

 

And on top of it a small frame was perched.

 

A minuscule frame, so small she could hide in the long fur.

 

Her hair was going crazy in the playful wind, bruises were all over her lovely face, she was unsteady and sore up there. She was as white as the snow, and it looked like she came right back from a riot against the God of Death.

 

A tiny bit of woman she was, really. She looked wounded and exhausted but by all the Gods, she was the most beautiful thing this world had ever birthed.

 

Was all of this true? Would he not wake up panting in a few seconds? In each step he took the fear was more unbearable.

 

And her gray eyes locked on his.

 

He forgot how to breathe. His heart resumed beating, and raced like it was about to leap out from his chest. He felt like a green boy again but paid no attention to it.

 

He ran. He ran faster than he ever thought he could run, he did not even feel the cold of the brisk air nor hear the crack of the snow under him.

 

And before either could realize, she had fallen in his arms, he squeezed her until he heard her groan to make sure it was really her. He was completely unmindful of the gigantic beast growling next to him, the only thing that mattered was the woman locked in his embrace. She smelled of blood and snow and tears, she was fragile and exhausted in his arms. She nestled her head in the warm nook where his neck met his shoulder.

 

“You're here…”, her voice was cold and tired, but he felt the tears gleam in his eyes. For days, he had thought he would never hear it again.

 

And he breathed out. Maybe for the first time in an eternity.

 

She was cold, her body was frozen. It was alright, he would warm her again with his feathery kisses on her stiff cheeks.

 

It felt like a dream. A beautiful, the most marvelous of dreams.

 

“Lovely girl…”, he held her even tighter, as if it were even possible, as if he feared that she might vanish again. No, she was too precious, he would never let her go now.

“Where were you? Gods, where were you? We thought-This man thought-”

 

He detached himself from her, admired her lovely face, bitten by the cold and the exhaustion, this beautiful face he had kissed and tasted and which he had missed beyond words. Underneath the exhaustion and the dread, this gleam was back in her blue-gray eyes, as if he had animated it again, this spark of arrogance and youthful slyness.

 

Now, his life truly resumed. Now, the Great war was really over. Was there a God he could thank?

 

“Arya!”

 

Sansa pulled her with a force that surprised everyone. She quickly examined her younger sister with panicked eyes, ran her thumbs along her face to check for wounds, hovered over the bruises before she dragged her into a warm hug.

 

“Don't do that ever again!”, she admonished in between sobs. The cold around them did not matter anymore, got replaced by the taste of hope and life.

“Do you hear me?”, her voice regained the soft range that the dread had killed during the previous days.

“Gods, Arya, we all thought-that-”, she squeezed so tight it made Jaqen grin as he wondered if his lovely girl could still breathe.

 

Jon Snow arrived like a fury, locked the two of them in his arms.

 

“Are you hurt?”, he took her long face in his gloved hands, soothed her cheeks with his thumbs.

 

“No.”, Arya smiled with teary eyes.

“Hungry some.”

 

He laughed. It felt odd to see the lively and cheerful expression on his face after these days of pure Hell. He was like a statue of rock animated again by some whimsical force.

 

Yes, life truly resumed.

 

“We'll find something for you to eat, and a maester to tend your wounds.”, he ran a thumb on the dark curve underneath her eye.

“Looks like you'll need some sleep, too.”

 

He turned to the heap of people still around them.

“And tonight, we'll have a feast.”, he smiled.

“We have many things to celebrate.”, he raised his voice, and people cheered in response.

 

*

 

She opened her eyes slowly. Oh- how good warmth felt, how comfortable the feather bed was after these days on the snowy and damp ground of the freezing forest. True, that Nymeria's fur had brought some comfort.

 

She owned her her life. She remembered how lost she found herself when she woke up near the horde of wolves. She did not know how long she had remained there, at some point she even thought she had been dead and that this was the freezing Hell she was supposed to spend the rest of eternity in. But the pain had brought her back to reality, the blood behind her head, her crushed limbs, the hunger. No, it had not been death.

 

But there had been no one, no one but the wolves and the cold in this forest. For a few days after she woke up she had been unable to walk, barely able to move. Luckily the pack shared the fruit of their hunts with her. The bloody and raw meat had been hard to chew, but it was better than starving and she could not light up a fire for it could have attracted the Others. For days she had been voyaging between life and death on the freezing ground, fighting for the cold or the pain not to take her, and she had no idea if the battle was still going, or if the Undead had won.

 

When she had had enough strength she hopped onto Nymeria's back and told her to go home. The wolf had an incredibly sharp mind. But she had dreaded to come home. What if the white walkers had taken over it? What if the castle would be empty? What if someone had been missing? Seven Hells, what if Jaqen did not survive the battle?

 

But she had come home anyway, and when she crossed the gate and recognized all the familiar faces, it had felt like a dream.

 

She watched him open his eyes, a smile tugged at his lips when he realized that she was there, and he squeezed her in his arms.

 

“For how long did I sleep?”, her voice was groggy.

 

“The whole day.”, damn, she had missed this soft purr.

“Everyone is busying themselves to prepare the feast.”

 

“A feast.”, she nearly scoffed. It looked ridiculous. After all the dread, the tears, the incommensurable fear, the death, the fire and the blood, they were having a _feast_.

“I don't know if I'm in the mood for that.”, she added.

“I'd rather dine in a smaller committee. You, my brothers, my sister. And I still haven't met my niece.”

 

“A girl's King brother insisted that we should all celebrate, to celebrate life together with every single person who fought and mourn with every person who lost a dear one.”

 

She leaned her head back on his warm chest.

 

“Are the southern soldiers on their way yet?”

 

“These men shall leave soon. They gathered some forces before the long road back to the South. And a man believes your brother will take this opportunity to spread the message that his daughter has a right claim to the throne.”

 

That was like a punch in the guts. The Great war was over, the dread was gone. But the Game of Thrones was still going.

 

“I should dress up then.”

 

 

The joyful music cheered her up. It was rare to play music in the North, especially during feasts and celebrations, it was simply not in their traditions. But Arya had to agree with the fact that it was the best way to lighten the mood. The faces smiling, the flushed cheeks of people, the smell of delicious food, the clatter of dishes and the sound of laughter, this was the melody of life, and the Great Hall had tunes of the soft summer days despite the storm raging outside.

 

She looked at Jon, gawking at the room, observing the people swarm, the juicy meats drip with sauces in their plates, listening to the songs about the great victory with that same expression on his face he had worn since the battle.

 

Something in him had broken, he hid it well behind his soft and strong stare, but Arya knew him. Nothing would ever be able to repair that thing that had broken in him beyond repair. His daughter, his family was like unguent on the wound, enough to make him forget about the pain for a few instants, but nothing would ever heal a cut this deep. Not with how he used to look at his Dragon Queen.

 

Oh, how she understood, she thought as her eyes traveled back to the Lorathi, now in the middle of a conversation with Bronn the Knight. Since she had seen the blood coating the young King's sword before the battle deciding of the fate of every breathing creature in Westeros, a question had lingered in her mind.

 

_Would I have done it?_

 

Bronze eyes caught hers. _How could I ever have found the strength?_

 

Jon had done the right thing. This, she was sure of. Nothing else but magic would have been able to defeat the Night King. She had heard the gasps when people saw the blood before he took off on the dragon's back, she had heard the whispers about Jon the Traitor, the Dragon Betrayer, before Sansa made sure to spread the tale of Azor Ahai and his Nissa Nissa for everyone to know about it and for them to understand why he had done such a thing.

 

Jon had been strong, stronger than anyone she knew, stronger than any valorous Knight in the songs. By plunging his sword in his beloved's heart, he did not only kill her, he killed himself too. He had saved them all, and she would let no one call him a betrayer or a killer for saving their kind.

 

They had all seen anyway. They had seen the sword light up, they knew about the prophecy, they had understood. And now the songs were about him.

 

“A wife and a castle, was I promised. Well, 't looks like my chances for Winterfell and a Stark wife lie quite low.”, Bronn japed looking at Sandor Clegane sat next to Sansa, before gulping down his wine.

 

“Winterfell is not only a castle, it is the capital of the realm of the North, and it is not for Jaime Lannister to decide whom is to marry the princesses of the North.”, lady Lyanna Mormont intervened, with the same cold and severe tone that was hers. Her face adorned a scar now, like a scratch from a wicked beast, going from the top of her forehead to the middle of her cheek. Arya had heard that everyone had been bedazzled to see her breathing and alive after the battle was over, and with still half of the men she led into battle still standing behind her. But Arya had only smiled proudly when she heard that the young ruthless lady of Bear Island had come back almost unhurt.

 

_Never underestimate anyone_

 

Many lords had lost their lives during the battle. Arya had not known their name, but she recognized those who were missing. Mostly children and the younger lords had died. They had been the less trained, obviously. But Arya knew that without them, they would not have won this battle.

 

“It will not remain a capital much longer after the Lord Estermont has found himself an heir.”, a man in the crowd intervened.

“This is why we should strike now, your grace, it is your duty to take the throne, for her.”, Jorah Mormont continued, standing up, eyes as empty as a ghost's, and the years digging hard into his face. He stumbled to get in front of the family table, his left leg half-way cut off and a wooden foot he still had trouble to manage keeping him up. He was pale and still healing, the blood of his Queen had washed away what youth and warmth had remained in him.

 

Jon took a deep breath in and looked sadly at the man who loved the same woman than he did.

 

“Enough of wars.”, the young King began.

 

“The Bear Knight is right, your grace. Now is the best time to take King's Landing, their armies are here and the streets are almost empty, we could ride and-”

 

“I said, enough of wars! There has been enough death, enough fire and blood.”, Jon outed, standing up this time, and his authoritarian voice made them all shut up which made Arya smile in pride.

“The Great war is over, the living must understand that they are not enemies.”

 

“The old Baratheon loyalists will not see it the same way than you do, your grace.”, the Imp said, raising to his feet too. Now all the other conversations had stopped and every one listened carefully.

“But still, none of them has an heir to-”

 

“They had plans to put Edric Storm on the throne, another of Robert Bartheon's bastards, and unite him with the north through a marriage.”, Arya reminded them bitterly.

 

“We can refuse.”, Sansa intervened.

 

“This would only mean more wars.”, Jon cut them.

“I refuse to attack, I refuse to ask of anyone to give their life because a bunch of old men are too stubborn to let go of that heap of iron. This throne is my daughter's.”

 

“Yet we cannot place a babe on top of that twisted beast of steel and expect her to rule over the Seven Kingdoms, your highness. And she is no less of a bastard than the Baratheon boy, the southern lords would never agree to name her the heir by their own will.”

 

“People have fought enough. I won't ask for them to take a city because lord Estermont prefers a King with a crown of black, there must be another solution.”, Jon's serious tone made her shiver. He looked tired, tired and angry. And his other solution growled outside the walls as it landed in the great yard, and all eyes turned to him terrified.

“I will send word to Lord Estermont, explain him that my daughter is the blood of the North _and_ the South, that the thrones is hers.”, he took a deep breath, and the room was dead silent.

“And if he refuses, we shall settle all of this with a trial by combat.”, he finally decided.

 

 

*

 

“He has half a mind!”

 

“Lovely girl-”

 

“When will it stop? When will he stop risking his life again and again?! A trial by combat, Jaqen! That means him, against some wicked beast of a soldier twice his size! We cannot let that happen, we must-”

 

“Lovely girl, nothing has been decided yet.”, he made his voice firmer, and closed the door of her bedroom. _Their_ bedroom.

 

“The young King will soon send a raven south. If the old Lords still have some wit they will agree to name the young Targaryen princess the heir to the throne. It would be a much better way to unite south and north, better than through marriage. And there will be no need for a trial by combat.”, he said calmly, and the anger flew away. The battle had not stolen this strange power of his, this ability he had to make the rage in her cool down in a fraction of a second.

 

“Now, a man and a girl have bigger problems.”, he said, a wicked look on her as if he were seeing right through her clothes. The fire made his skin glow, and oh- how handsome he looked. The new scars on his face made him look ever so dangerous, that thrilling kind of dangerous, and the way he moved made her want to push him down to the ground and ride him right there.

 

“Do we?”, she lifted a brow, toyed with the lacing of her leather coat.

 

“I believe we haven't celebrated properly.”, he said, a dirty grin accompanying his delicious accent.

 

“I thought you were tired?”, she smirked, getting closer from him, until she felt his sizzling warmth.

“I thought you had scouted the whole North in the past few days, surely you had no time for this kind of thoughts…”

 

And the battle had not stolen her liking for games.

 

“Oh no-”, he whispered, his warm wind hitting the bare skin in her neck. His tone sounded like he had won already.

“A man did not think about how he would warm you up after all these days in the freezing cold of the forest.”, his eyes full of the sparkle of outraging debauchery. Arya felt the heat spread in her and swore in her head. He had always been the best at games.

“He did not think of taking you to these steaming hot springs near the castle and kiss every inch of you until it is no longer rigid from the cold.”, his hands went to lazily grab her waist, and she shivered as if he were touching her for the first time.

“He did not think of taking you until you no longer have a breath to plead for more.”

 

He slid a hand in her underclothes, felt the dripping hotness, and she closed her eyes ashamed and bit on her lower lip for she was scandalized with her own thoughts.

 

“Who's having this kind of thoughts now?”, he lifted a brow and she hated how she loved him.

 

“You evil manipulator.”, she said before wolfing down his lips.

 

He lifted her from the ground and settled her on the table. She used her long fingers to unlace his coat, but before she was half-way done a knock on the door rang in the room.

 

“Lady Arya-”

 

“Urgh!”

 

“-your sister sends me to tend your-”

 

“Go away!”, they shouted in unison.

 

They heard the sound of her light feet running away and he gave her an amused look.

_Whatever_ , she thought before planting her lips back on his.

_Let them know who I spend my nights with._

 

It felt as if she were re-learning everything. His touch, the feel of his skin, the taste of his kisses, everything was different yet the same, and she had not known how much she had truly craved him. It was just mating, the reason in her spoke, only an act of the body, yet when he was in her, with his strong and golden body pressed against hers and his exquisite voice murmuring hushed moans in her ear she felt as if she were transcending, as stupid as it may sound.

 

He made her scream his name just in case they had not understood.

 

*

 

He held the answer in his hand, the broken stag seal lurking at him like a vicious snake. They had wasted no time, he had sent his raven only a fortnight days prior.

 

“Summon the Lady Arya.”, he said firmly.

 

This was bad. This was truly bad. He was sick of fighting.

 

“They refused.”, he said when she arrived, putting the piece of parchment still wet from the melting snowflakes down.

“They know we don't want another war. They say the soldiers of House Blount and Slynt are still North, and that they will escort you South.”, he said in an exhale. He was tired of all of this.

 

“You want me to go South?”, she asked, her voice unsure.

 

“Of course not.”

He sat and stared at the fire. The days were getting colder and colder, and his wounds were still healing. He was exhausted and he wanted to rest, to free his mind for a while. But Kings never rested.

“I don't want any of us to ever go South again.”, he said quietly, speaking more to himself than to her.

“But this throne is Rhaenna's.”

 

Why was it always he who must take the most awful decisions? His sister or his daughter. How by all the Gods could he ever choose? He took a deep breath and thought. Surely there was another solution. The silence felt appeasing for half a minute, just the time he needed to reload some energy to face the problems.

 

“Perhaps if we can manage to talk to them they'll see reason-”

 

“No they won't, you know it as well as I do.”, she said, the anger flaming in her gray eyes.

“Jon, we have to attack them. You have been honorable, you have proposed a peaceful way. They have refused it. Fine. Our armies are the biggest and we would be South in less time than-”

 

“I won't fight again!”, he flared. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to control the boiling emotions.

“Even if we were to attack them, which we are not, some southern soldiers are still here, in the North. They would inform the South about our coming before we reach the Neck, and without the surprise effect there is no way we could invade King's Landing without shedding the blood of innocents on our way.”

 

“We have dragons!”

 

“I'm not burning them, Arya!”, he stood up but did not manage to impress her. Very little impressed her for such a small woman.

“I'm not turning King's Landing into ashes because a bunch of old Lords are refusing to cede the throne to it's rightful heir!”

 

“Then what do we do? You expect me to go South again, to go through everything again and marry another bastard of that plump King?!”

 

He sat, exasperated and exhausted. No. This, he could not ask of her. And it would not solve his problem, it would not make his daughter any more the heir to this throne. How could a single seat of twisted steel be tied to so many complications?

 

“There must be another solution-”

 

“Which one?!”, she cut him.

 

“I don't know!”, he boiled again.

 

He stared at the fire again. It was cracking and singing in the chimney, it's flames rising high and strongly.

 

_I know nothing_ , a little voice whispered in his aching mind.

_They took the most ignorant man for their king, and now here I am_

 

“I need time to think.”

 

That did not appease her. She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

 

And he sighed. This was far from over.

 

*

 

_-you bunch of cunts, thinking I'm some pawn you can use as you wish-_

 

She kept cursing again and again, until the fake aim was no more than shatters of wood in the snow. People who passed by did not dare to look her in the eyes or ask her what was wrong. And they better not have.

 

Some of these freaking southerners were still around here. This was her home. She should probably kick them out.

 

She wished she could knock one to the ground. Right here, right now. She wished she could watch one of these dorks dressed in their southern banners struggle to keep up with her sneaky, rapid water dance and fall to his knees before yielding and begging her to stop.

 

“What in the seven Hells are you watching?!”, she yelled at a group of these freaking southerners staring, shivering like wet hens in the delightful cold of the northern winter.

 

“My lady…”, one dared to move forward.

“We… have… uhm-”, his voice was shaky.

 

Did she just frighten a grown up man only by hitting a fake aim of wood and straw?

 

“We have gotten word that you-… uh- you were to travel with us soon.”

 

She felt the anger explode.

 

“The Others take your accursed trip South and your bloody bastard.”, she pointed the training sword towards him. He took a step back and almost tripped on his own foot.

“I'm not setting a foot further than the Neck!”

 

She lowered her weapon and paced away angrily, biting away the will to plunge the training sword in his throat.

 

_Seven Hells_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Things are coming very close to an end now, I don't want to go any further than 30 chaps so the big fat chapters are coming, but they'll take some time to write, so don't be too impatient :P
> 
> Anyway, what did you think of this one? Arya's alive, so it's not that bad, right xD  
> How do you think the northerners will solve that marriage problem?


	27. A Place called Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> I am so, so sorry that this took so long. But I'm still there, and I didn't forget about you guys ;)
> 
> !! Art is not mine, check the artist out on instagram at @emmney.art !!

 

 

“I'll cut them to pieces, and then I'll sew a stag banner with their skins like the good little lady they want me to be-”

 

“Lovely girl.”, his voice resonated in her chest.

 

She did not know what to do. And if she believed the glimpse in his eyes he did not know either.

 

Maybe the both of them should run away. Get on a ship and travel west of Westeros, completely disappear until they would all forget about the Stark girl who was once ought to marry a southern bastard.

 

No she could not do that. Because they would only take Sansa in her place and make her marry the Baratheon boy to secure their stupid alliance.

 

Maybe she should hop on the back of one of these dragons and go burn the Red Keep down. Daenera was small, like her, they would make the perfect duo.

 

But no, that, she could not do either. It would only trigger another war between the North and the South. And the dragon would make short work of her should she approach it too much for it's liking.

 

They were stuck.

 

“I can't even go South wearing another face and slit their worthless throats. They know I'm faceless, Baelish made sure to spread the word before his demise. They'll know it's us right away.”

 

She looked away, and a weight was in her throat.

 

“No.”, she said coldly when she felt his hand on his waist. The images were flashing in her head, that stupid wedding gown she had once worn, the iron throne and that disgusting bastard that she had once called a friend sitting on top. A shiver ran through her spine as the feeling of Gendry pulling her toward him stirred in her guts again. It had been an eternity since she had not thought about it yet the memory felt as vivid as if it happened seconds ago.

 

It was all happening again. Her life was an endless circle, and all the paths she took seemed to lead to the same road. A road she had tried so hard to stay away from since as long as she could remember.

 

_That's not me_

 

She was no proper little lady who fancied wearing fancy gowns and marry fair princes. She just wanted to be home with her family.

 

“I need to be alone.”, her voice was rusty and pathetic, but she knew he'd understand. She felt him plant a gentle kiss on the back of her head, and heard him walk away.

 

She snuggled up in her cold bed. When would this stop? When would people cease to rip her away from her home? She tried to ignore the problems and get some sleep.

 

 

She opened her eyes. She felt that her lids were still heavy, and the candles had not burnt out completely yet. It was much earlier than in her habits.

 

The door made a tiny creak but it was enough to alarm her. She snuggled her hand under the pillow, as slowly as she could manage, and felt her heart beat more strongly.

 

She felt the cold hilt of the dagger in her hand and tried to remain as still as she could. She heard the heavy boots knock against the wood on the floor. She thought for half a second that it might be Jaqen, who would have found time rather long without her in the bed, in the chamber that he had been officially assigned. But it could not be Jaqen. He was way more discreet than that.

 

She heard another pair of boots enter and her breath accelerated the slightest bit. She squeezed the hilt and wondered if she would have enough time to unsheathe Needle, which was right under the bed.

 

A third person entered and she sprung to her feet.

 

She was about to scream for help but a powerful fist knocked the air out of her lungs. An arm snaked around her face to shush her. She tried to plant the dagger in whoever had decided of this bad joke, but the two others caught a strong hold of her wrist and before she could realize the dagger got snatched away from her.

 

She tried to kick them with her legs but they were three strong men and she was half of their size. Her heart was beating fast and her thoughts were blurry.

 

She tried to bite the arm that was holding her from yelling but the beast seemed to feel nothing through the leather of his gloves. She tried to analyze he situation in the midst of her struggle, cursing in her head.

 

_They'll pay for this_

 

She only got a glimpse at one of the southern guard's face before they put a cloth on her head and knocked her out of consciousness.

 

*

 

“They hold her, my Lord. If southron blood is shed, I fear you may never see your sister again.”

 

Jon sighed. The situation was unbelievable. Arguably even more unbelievable than the army of white walkers that had rushed upon them only a couple of moons from now. His sister was being held captive by a horde of southerners that he had let into their home, and there was nothing he could do about it but patently wait for them to decide what to do with her.

 

“The lady Arya should not have shared her discontentment about this alliance.”, spoke Tyrion Lannister.

“Maybe-”

 

“The Lady Arya is not one to hold her tongue, and neither should we be.”, the fierce voice of Lyanna Mormont cut him. She stood and looked down to the seated lords. She had grown quite a lot, and the scars her face adorned now made her look wiser.

“Your grace, we musn't back away like frightened lambs. We must show them what it means to attack the North.”

 

A few soldiers cheered at the girl's willfulness, but King Jon was not convinced.

 

He cursed again in his head. Why was he so incapable of keeping the ones he held dear safe? He hated himself for letting this happen. The second he knew about it, he had doubled the amount of guards at the door of Bran's and Sansa's chambers. He had tripled the ones who patrolled near his and his daughter's, and no one but a few selected wet nurses and Sansa dared approach his precious girl now.

 

As good as Arya was with sneaking and fighting, there was no way she could flee from all of them to escape her prison.

 

These beasts were holding her in a tiny fast not far from Winterfell. He could not attack to free her either, that would only start a fight between northerners and southerners. Another war would only shed the blood of innocents, and he had promised himself he would not be this kind of King. Moreover, they did not stand a chance with all the southern forces up north. Winterfell would be taken over in less than a day, and soon enough wolf and dragon banners would only be a dusty memory buried in the snow.

 

He turned his eyes to Tyrion Lannister, whose hands were behind his back and whose gaze was on the cold ground, waiting for his council to be asked.

 

_Daenerys trusted him_

 

He stood and the murmurs ceased to let him speak.

 

“Lady Mormont, Lord Tyrion and Lord Tarly, remain here please. The others are free to leave.”, the rumble started and he felt a weight make him slightly bow his head.

“Girl-”, he addressed to a servant maid who was here. They were quite rare in the castle since the great war. And, like a lot of women since this dreadful war, her belly adorned a nice and round curve.

“Go fetch Lord Bran and Lady Sansa. And make sure Princess Rhaenna is in good hands before my sister leaves the nursery.”

 

_We will discuss this in private_

 

Jon tried to catch a sight of the Lorathi man but he was nowhere to be seen, so he quickly forgot about him.

 

*

 

“Careful”, the guard said with his stupid southern accent. He was shivering in his armor like a wet hen caught under the rain.

“The wolf girl bares her teeth easily.”

 

The quiet soldier entered without an apparent ounce of hesitation despite his peer's warnings. Arya did not bother to grant him a look.

 

He closed the heavy door but her gaze was still on the landscape outside the window.

 

_Just two more seconds…_

 

She only needed two more seconds for the little knife to get her out of that rope binding her hands. Luckily she always had concealed weapons on her, just in case.

 

She felt the rope snap, and in less than a second she had sprung on her feet and readied her little dagger to plunge it in the tender spot of his neck.

 

But he caught her wrist before she could do so and tackled her down the hard ground.

 

“Lovely girl-”, he whispered in her ear.

 

“J-”, she hushed herself, but could not hide the disbelief on her face.

“Jaqen?”, she asked more quietly, making sure the guard outside the door would not hear her.

 

“Everythin' alright mate?”, he asked, probably after he heard the loud thump she made when she collided on the ground.

 

“She's quite a wild thing!”, he answered quickly. He gave her a look, and she grunted to make his little play more believable.

 

“Ya need help?”

 

“No, it's fine.”, he said in a voice that was not his, before helping her on her feet.

 

She pulled him further into her cell, farther from the door so they could speak more freely.

 

“You ruined my plan!”, she whispered angrily.

“How am I supposed to walk out of there with the guard's face now?!”

 

He frowned and for a split second he looked very mad.

 

“A girl did not expect this to work, did she?”, he asked.

“A girl could have had herself killed! Her move was way too slow and the dagger was not angled the right way!”

 

She felt a bit ashamed and lowered her eyes.

 

“They can't kill me. I heard them say it. The southern Lords want me alive and unharmed, and able to produce children.”

 

He sighed.

 

“Yet a guard who feels like his life is threatened will not hesitate to harm you.”, he said in a severe tone.

“Please, lovely girl, no more of these lousy tries to free yourself.”

 

“What, so I'm supposed to stay trapped in there?! Dare to tell me that's what you'd do!”, she spat in a low voice.

 

“This man would not try anything unless he is absolutely sure that his plan would work.”, his gaze was hard. She was mad but she knew he was right.

 

“How long do ya need to get her chamberpot mate?!”, they heard the other guard shout from outside the door.

 

Jaqen sighed and she saw him clench his teeth in clear annoyance.

 

“I believe you have a plan then?”, she whispered.

 

He pulled her dagger out of his sleeve, and two other little knives.

 

“Hide these.”, he picked up the rope from the ground.

“A man will tie you up again and make the knot loose. When the next guard enters, do as you planed. But please, lovely girl, angle your knife more towards the sky, and favor cutting his throat from behind while gagging him with your arm to prevent the others to hear. Then slip his armor and his face on and be off to Winterfell.”

 

He arranged the rope around her wrists and picked up the bucket.

 

“Wait-”, she whispered when he turned his heels to leave.

 

She planted a quick kiss on his lips. It felt odd on the guard's lips. That face was not particularly attractive but she did not care, she wanted to kiss him.

 

“Go now.”

 

Before he got to open the door, they heard at least a dozen of soldiers make their way in the corridor.

 

“Oh- y- your grace…”, the other guard babbled.

 

_Your grace?_

 

She ran to the door and saw a group of southern guards mixed up with northern soldiers.

 

“Jon?”, she asked when the door opened to reveal the King in the North.

“I mean uh, your grace…”, she scoffed, while doing the most wobbly curtsy anyone had ever seen.

 

“Aye, stop now, Arya. You'll joke when happier times come.”, his face was closed and stern.

“Are you alright? Did they harm you?”

 

“I'm fine.”, she answered, touched by his care.

 

He threw a disdainful look at the cold and dark cell. In a wave of hand he dismissed the guards. Jaqen was lost in the mass for an instant, but then she heard him tell the other guard that it was his turn watching over her and took his place in front of the cell.

 

Jon took a deep breath and she did not know what to expect.

 

“What are you doing here?”, she asked.

 

“The southerners finally agreed to a parlay.”

 

“A parlay about what? They agreed to name your daughter the heiress?”

 

“No-”, he continued.

“They agreed to Lord Tyrion Lannister's proposition.”

 

The distant look on his face made her wonder if he was totally convinced by his words.

 

“It shall be a trial by the seven.”, he finally said, his gaze empty.

 

“What? So… the North against the South?”, she asked, he nodded.

“And what happens if they win?”

 

“If they win, you will marry Edric Baratheon. The North will loose it's independence, and I will have to bow to your husband, as well as swear eternal loyalty to House Baratheon.”

 

She took a deep breath in, and clenched her teeth at the idea. But then she tasted a bit of hope in the air.

 

“And…if we win?”

 

“You will be free. The North will be proclaimed a Kingdom of it's own, and Rhaenna will success to the throne once she turns ten and five.”

 

_So… that's better than war…_

 

She looked in his eyes, tried to analyze his face.

 

“This is what you want, right?”, she asked.

 

_To see his daughter on the throne, that's the only reason that keeps him fighting now_ , she realized.

 

“The North has the best fighters Westeros has ever known. And we have essosi fighters on our side to pick from too. Westerosi knights don't stand a chance against them.”, she continued, as if to encourage him.

 

He stayed silent.

 

“So… what should I do, in the meantime?”, she asked. Of course, running away back home was out of options now.

 

He sat on the bedroll next to her, and his eyes grew gentle on her, like when they were children playing around Winterfell. Only the game had grown to be far more serious.

 

“I need you to stay with them. If you escape, they will send their armies after us for breaking our agreement. We will travel South soon. You will be escorted by the southern armies in a wheelhouse, but I will be near, keeping an eye on you, I promise. And once the combat is done, we'll go back home.”, he said with a kind smile, before putting a kiss on her forehead like father used to do.

 

“You got everyone to agree on this?”, she asked in a naive voice.

 

He scoffed.

 

“Not exactly. Lady Mormont wanted to attack this holdfast, and build an armada to take over King's Landing and forcefully take the throne. But we are running out of time, and that was putting you and everyone at Winterfell in too much danger. We finally settled on this decision, but Sansa is not thrilled about it.”

 

“Of course she's not…”, she answered, a nostalgic smile tugging at her lips.

“I don't think she holds the South so dearly in her heart anymore.”

 

“She admonished me. “Remember what happened the last time Starks went down South? And the time before? And the time before that?”, she said. And I have to admit that she's right. It's a historical fact now. When the Starks go South, they melt like snow in the sun. But it was the best solution I could find.”

 

“It is the right decision.”, she encouraged him.

 

He smiled again.

 

“Well, here I stay then.”, she said, looking around the cold and moldy cell with a bit of apprehension. Of course she had seen worse, on the road with the Hound or in the House of Black and White, but even back when she was with the Hound she didn't feel as trapped. Now she truly felt like a captive.

 

“You won't stay here long.”, he answered.

“After a very long argument, they agreed that you be brought back to Winterfell. You should be back this afternoon. And then we'll leave for King's Landing.”

 

She looked at him without concealing her surprise.

 

“I get to wait at home? Really?”

 

He tightened his lips. Of course, there was a trick. She saw that he hesitated to continue but he had no other choice.

 

“But uhm… you'll have to stay… in the cells of Winterfell. With southern guards surveying you.”, his look was sorry, and for a second she wondered if she had heard right.

“They know about your abilities, and have clearly voice their mistrust. Sansa said she would do her best for you to have as many accommodations as she can fit in-”

 

“I don't care about their bloody _accommodations_!”, she spat out, fuming.

“They're locking me up in my own home?!”

 

*

 

This was the one place in the castle she never imagined spending time in. The humidity the room was swallowed in made the cold even brisker. The cell was small and filthy, moisture and rot were mingled in the freezing and still air. She was sitting on a fancied-up bedroll made out of goose feathers and furs, displayed on what looked somewhat like a raised altar made of stone. She could not believe it.

 

_A prisoner in my own home_

_These fucking Lords will pay for that_

 

The days were infinitely long in here. She spent her entire time wandering in her thoughts, imagining ways of killing them all off. But she had recently ran short of people to hate on.

 

She wondered who the warden of the South's champions could be. She did not know the Knights very well, she had not bothered to learn all their names when the King's guard had been introduced to her on her wedding day, she had been too busy cursing each and every single nobleman and woman attending this stupid ceremony, and imagining ways to escape Gendry's desire to fulfill his husband's duty towards her.

 

The door creaked, she heard the guard mumble something about the visits being counted, and then Jaqen appeared.

 

“You took your time.”, she groaned.

 

He smirked.

 

“I was growing bored in that tiny cell.”

 

“Maybe if a girl had not praised how fatal she is, she would not be here.”

 

“They're just a bunch of frightened hens.”, she outed, quite loudly, for the leaving guard to hear.

“I'm just a little girl after all.”

 

She tried to move around the tight chains to ease the numbness in her muscles. These frightened hens had chained her very close to the ground for her to be barely able to move and unable to stand. She sighed, exasperated. That smirking Lorathi was right, maybe if she had not shown so much of her faceless skills, she would not be constrained with bounds so tight.

 

“What in the seven Hells is taking so long? I've been rotting in here for days now! Why are we not off to King's Landing yet?”

 

“Well, there is quite a fair amount of goods to pack, the party is rather huge. The southern soldiers will travel back home at the same time than you.”, his gaze grew amused.

“And it took some time to calm your sister's fury, lovely girl.”

 

_Oh right_

_Sansa hasn't come yet to tell me how stupid I was to threaten them all_

 

_Ugh, that surely will be another funny conversation I look forward to, as if Jon had not been enough_

 

“And they are still deciding who will travel South to fight the trial by the seven.”, he continued.

 

Arya started counting the people she could rely on for that task.

 

_Jon…Brienne of Tarth…Maybe the Hound if Sansa's not too mad at me and manages to convince him that I'm not totally useless to her…_

_I should have made more friends around this castle_ , she sighed.

 

“I hope you made sure they did not forget about me, there's no way I'll just sit somewhere and watch you all fight.”

 

He smirked again, she looked away for she did not want to give him the satisfaction of looking up to him.

 

“Will you fight?”

 

“Does a man have a choice?”

 

She smiled. No, he did not.

 

“That depends, will you ever want to get laid after this?”

 

He chuckled.

 

“Agreed, then.”

 

“That makes three of us. Who else did Jon find?”

 

“It looks like a Knight called Bronn is eager to get a castle, the King promised him one if we win. And a Wildling named Tormund insisted on showing his fighting skills to prove his value to a 'Big Lady'.”

 

Arya rolled her eyes. She did not know that Torund very well, but the only times she had seen him, he had been complaining about _being a real man, unlike that pretty blonde_. She had no time for small talk.

 

Jaqen smirked at her annoyance. By the seven, she had never been so bored, and the bastard was enjoying how angry she was turning. She watched him smirk and turn his heels.

 

“Please don't go Jaqen!”, she hissed, quickly catching his waist with her legs, because the chains binding her hands were not long enough for her to reach to him.

 

He raised his brows, and she smirked back. She brought him closer with her powerful legs, and he let her do so, as if flowing through the air. She brought him close enough for the leather of their coats to squeak as their chest collided, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him.

 

“A girl needs company…she feels lonely here…”, she said, putting on the most innocent look she could gather, thinking about all the things she could be doing right now if her hands were not fucking tied.

 

“Hm? A man has just offered a girl his services as her champion, and now she demands for him to stay to keep her amused? A man feels rather used, lovely girl…”

 

“A lovely girl would gladly return him a favor,-”, she ground her hips into his, felt the hardness through the layers of clothing and could not restrain a grin at the feeling of her effect on him.

“-but unfortunately she is bound and seems unable to protest or move…” She made her eyes rounder to appear falsely desperate, and she knew by the change in his breathing that she was turning him on.

“A man could do whatever he wants to her, she is totally at his mercy…”

 

“Hmm, a girl is getting good at this game…”, he purred, seemingly satisfied by her teasing.

 

He looked towards the door, to make sure the guards were patrolling far enough.

 

She bit her lip. He quickly turned her as if she weighed nothing and she could not help the triumphing smile. She was now on her hands and knees facing the moldy wall of stone. She felt his fingers swiftly untie her pants, she tugged at the chains but could not manage to set herself free, so she held onto them. She felt a hand slide in her underclothes, toy with the strands of hair crowning her lady's parts.

 

His hands moved quickly, almost too quickly for her to follow, when she was just laying there on all fours staring at the wall and trying to hush the moans. One removed the last piece of fabric while the other went to the small of her back, forcing her to lie down and arch for him.

 

He kissed and nibbled, made her curl her toes. He kept it slow and tortuous, on purpose of course, and the click of the chains reminded her of her situation when she tried to slide her own hand down to give herself that tiny extra dose that she needed to be set off. She groaned, and her impatience made him chuckle.

 

“Patience…”, he ordered, and she rolled her eyes.

 

He slid the tip of himself against her wet folds but did not immediately start to plunge in her as she would have liked. His other hand pulled her hair for her to look up to him before he leaned down to nip at her ear and oh-, she never thought she would have liked it but she did, she had to bite her lip to shut herself and keep a bit of dignity.

 

As she tried to angle her hips to get him to enter her, he held them firmly with one of his powerful hands and grazed the skin of her back with his teeth.

 

“A man had not realized he had been so missed…”, he whispered in his growly, ridiculously seductive voice.

 

Want ached in her very core, threatening to make her implode. She could feel her knees quiver each time the hot tip of him got a little closer to her entrance. She was biting her lip, so hard that she could almost taste blood.

 

“Damn it Jaqen!”, she jeered, whimpering. She ground her hips, hoping for him to follow the movement, but he held them sturdily with his one hand, and he pinched her nipple with the other. To her surprise, the pain felt good, and she let out a hiss that was partly ache, partly want.

 

“I give the orders, woman.”

 

_Gods,_ she cursed as she felt the burning heat coat her between the legs, the strong pull in her lower stomach.

 

His hot breath, his warm accent, the feeling of his flesh so close to hers, everything, just everything about this damned man was turning her mad. For a minute she thought she had forgotten how to breathe. And Gods, he looked so sexy and dominant and pitiless, she was not sure if she could handle all of him. Her cheeks were aflame and her whole body was in a state of thrill only procured by revenge before. And it felt so good and painful at the same time.

 

He slid against her core, swollen and drenched, and she restrained a gasp. Oh, how vulnerable and at his mercy she felt indeed.

 

“Look at you, lovely girl, just ripe for a man…”, he said rocking his hips against her lazily and caressing her ever so unhurriedly.

 

His touch was setting her skin on fire, and his raw voice was sending shivers down her spine. She wanted to scratch him, feel his blood underneath her nails, leave a scar on that beautiful golden skin of his, mark him, to punish him too for this, but the jangling of the chains reminded her where she was again. She was fully exposed to him and unable to act, and she had asked for this. There was nothing she could do but wait patiently for him to be satisfied with how mad he had turned her. She hated it yet she loved it at the same time.

 

“Beg”, he said.

 

She scoffed, not believing her own situation.

 

_Oh you-_

_Just-_

_Damn it_

 

Even thinking was almost impossible as his hot and hard sex brushed against her, so ready to send her flying. She did not know if she could stay in this whimpering state much longer before her nerves would all start to pop.

 

“Please.”, she whispered through practically sealed lips, looking away from him, before trapping her lower lip between her teeth again.

 

_Ugh, Arya Stark, what have you become?_

 

He leaned over and whispered in her ear, his able fingers slowly wandering between her bundle of nerves and her entrance, tempting her starving self with a sweet promise.

 

“This man cannot hear you, lovely girl.”, he said, his voice deep and seductive.

 

_Gods_

 

She could already feel her body tremble, and she wasn't sure if it was because of the thrill or because she was about to come already.

 

_How in the seven Hells?!_

_He's only been talking to me!_

 

“Please.”, she repeated, marking the word this time, still looking away from him.

 

“Please what?”, he answered, a wicked smirk on his face.

 

He stood there like a predator about to devour his prey- _No_

Like those wicked animals who like to play with them before they finally give them the gift of death, like sheenjoyed to kill.

 

_Damn it_

 

“Fuck me, Jaqen please, take me!”, she could not believe what he just made her say, but it soon did not matter anymore.

 

“Good girl.”, he growled in her ear.

 

He rammed in, like a hot bar of steel stretching her, and she almost shrieked in release. This position allowed him to go deep, and she could hear the sound of their flesh colliding into each other each time he plunged into her, filling her as the sweet and wet melody played in the room. She dared not look at his triumphant smile, she was already seeking revenge.

 

His thrusts were not romantic and slow, they were owning, passionate, dominant. A slight veil of sweat coated her skin already. She opened her mouth for air, and each time he crushed into her, each time she felt her inner walls clench around his thick length a moan would escape her lips, louder every time despite her restraint.

 

“Shh, lovely girl, you would not like for the other prisoners to think that this is how you convinced a man to be your champion, would you?”

 

She bit her lip to hush the sound of her moans. She hated that she obeyed him, but he was right, people would hear. Her cell was far from the others, but her voice would echo in the large corridor, and she was sure the slick and wet sound of him pounding inside of her was loud enough to wake the other prisoners.

 

“Doesn't a girl enjoy that? Just the sound of a man loving her.”

 

His breath was synchronized with his movements, fully in control when she was losing her mind. Their flesh were sticky, and her knuckles were white from holding onto the chains so tight. She buried her teeth in her sleeve to prevent any sound from escaping her throat.

 

_I'll get my revenge, devilish man, just wait until it's my turn to bind you with chains_

_Just you wait_

 

As if he was reading her mind, he slowed down for a second, before pulling himself out.

She was about to curse, she did not beg just so he could leave when she was so close to the edge, but before she got a chance to do so, he angled her hips and sank in in one long stroke, exploring her as deep as she was.

 

And this time, she could not help it. She did not care if it would wake the others, she did not care if it would scandalize the statues of noble Starks in the crypts, let them all know how good he feels.

 

“Lovely girl…”, she heard him chortle close from her ear, that wicked chortle, full of arrogance and manly pride.

 

“I-ah… you fell so…so huge…”, she managed in between breaths.

 

And at these words, he quickened his pace, and the clatter of chains did little to help hiding the sound of their flesh banging, the moans or the whispered curses, or even the sound of his breath accelerating. Yes, he quite enjoyed being complimented, Arya mentally noted before her thoughts started to wander between the realms of reality and madness.

 

She inwardly doomed him and begged for him to continue at the same time.

 

His hand wandered down again, and he only had to brush two of his fingers against her engorged nub for the dim light to flicker around her. She bit the leather of her sleeve, almost poking it. Her strangled moans and trembling frame intensified as he went on with his ministrations.

 

“Look at your man.”, he commanded, keeping the bossy tone as he trashed in her and she was squirming uncontrollably.

 

_He might be more torturous than me in the end_

 

She laboriously turned her head and looked at him, knowing that he would only see the reflection of himself in her lust filled eyes.

 

But at her surprise, he took her ankle in his hand, and turned her again so that she lay on her elbows. He bent down and hovered on her. The transition had been skillfully done, almost like dancing, as if their bodies knew exactly what they had to do. Her legs hooked behind his back, and he supported her convulsing frame in his arms.

 

They were still looking at each other, and he kissed her deeply before he trembled too, she, moaning pleasingly, and he, only a sigh escaping his lips. She felt his warm seed inside of her and dripping on the sides of her thighs. They lingered here for a bit, him still inside her, the time they both recovered their breaths.

 

She tucked some of his red hair behind his ear, revealing his smile. Not a smirk this time, a sincere smile, and she could not help herself from smiling back.

 

*

 

“I've gotten all fat and limp in there, I swear they'll pay for this.”, she spat, thinking about this endless journey in this wheeled cage, about every time she had felt dizzy for she could barely see the outside and the thing swayed like a boat during a storm.

“I can't wait for us to be done with them so I can put all of their heads on spikes and use them to decorate-”, his amused and petulant smile made her stop.

“Are you listening to anything I'm saying?”

 

He knelt and planted a light kiss on her lips.

 

It had been weeks of traveling in the wheelhouse. Arya had never been so bored. Even her time in the cells had been a blast compared to this. Of course, as princess of the North and _future Queen of Westeros_ like all these fools liked to believe, she was allowed some comfort, but not to the point where she was allowed to go out of that golden cage. Jaqen and Jon came to visit sometimes, but these visits had to remain short because these frightened southern soldiers were too scared that they come up with a plan of evasion. So she mostly spent her time reading the bloody songs, because these were the only books in there. Not that she liked them now, but anything had been enough to distract her. By now she was sure she knew all the songs by heart. Septa Mordane would be proud.

 

“A girl's turmoil will be over soon.”

 

His calm angered her.

 

“I want to look at them in the eyes and plunge Needle through their limbs for taking me for a pawn in their stupid game.”

 

He stood up again and lost his smile.

 

“A man has bad news for a girl.”

 

She looked at him frowning. What else could be worse than this?

 

“A girl's brother was only informed of this recently, after a conversation with a southern Lord. A girl cannot fight.”, he simply said.

 

“ _What?!_ ”, she flared.

“Why?!”

 

“Because…”, she saw in his eyes that he was looking for kind words to not nurture the flaming rage in her.

 

“Just say it!”, she urged him.

 

“This is a trial to death. Should the northern side loose, they would not be able to fulfill their part of the…contract.”

 

She clenched her teeth and sharply sucked air in.

 

“If we lose they're loosing the brood mare supposed to marry their bastard and give them more black crowned bastards.”, she brooded.

 

She sighed angrily and looked away. She felt him approach, thought he'd plant a kiss on her forehead before leaving, but her eyes met with a confused expression.

 

“Wh-Jaqen!”, she kicked his hand away from her right breast.

“This is hardly the proper moment! What in the seven Hells are you thinkin-”

 

“When was the last time a girl bled?”

 

“What?!”

 

He raised his eyes back at her, and they were full of a boyish gleam that made her loose her angry expression.

 

She looked at herself, at her rounder breast and her bloated stomach. She had gotten bigger in the past month, her usual leather coat was too tight now and she felt always bloated.

 

When was the last time she had bled?

 

“Oh-”

 

Her expression dropped and his had never looked so evident. He looked about to burst with joy.

 

_By the seven, could this mean…_

 

Yes, she was with child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!  
> I hope you liked this chapter :D  
> This story is coming very close to an end now (also, I uploaded first chapter almost exactly a year ago! I had no idea it would become so long back then xD), what do you think will happen next? Comment your theories down below, I love reading what you guys think ;)


	28. In the Sight of the Gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey....... yeah, it's been a while. But I finally finished this chapter :D
> 
> I took my sweet time to polish it since we're very close to the end now (it's making me so sad and proud at the same time, it's very hard to describe that feeling xD). Btw, since this story is ending soon, I'd like to redirect you to my other Jaqarya ff (Modern Au, PG18 thoughts concerning Jon, cringy but okay-ish, some shady stuff, possibly entertaining while you wait for the last chap of this one) It's called "A Face is just a Mask" :)
> 
> Enjoy!

A welcoming in King's Landing had never been so cold. Southerners were not like Northerners, and usually took delight in faking smiles for their guests. No one faked a smile this time. Lord Estermont, protector of the realm, had been waiting in his Red Keep, not even granting them with his presence. When the party arrived in the old Dragonpit, with their northern captor in her golden cage, followed by the King in the North mounting Rhaeghal, and his small gathering of fighters, only half a dozen of southern soldiers had been there to welcome them.

 

“His grace has given orders.”, one of them spoke. On his armor was a golden stag.

“The lady Arya shall be escorted to the Maidenvault under tight surveillance. His grace had the kindness of bestowing Jon Snow and his men the Guest House, where they shall rest for three days until the trial.”

 

The party stayed dead quiet, and the guard who had talked looked at Jon straight in his eyes, a smirk shadowing on his lips.

 

“Choose your champions wisely, Lady Stark.”, he addressed to Arya, emphasizing on the name Stark as if it was meant to be an insult. She felt her blood boil up, but remained calm and repressed the urge to lay a hand on the slight curve of her stomach.

 

_All will be well, small one_

 

The idea that she would soon hold a child of her own had been strange at first. A few days after she and Jaqen had discovered the existence of that small one she was cradling in her womb, a strange and sudden fear had taken over her. She had strolled in her golden cage during the last days of her travel, finding no rest, only walking back and forth, breathing hard. It made no sense, she knew it. Had she not wanted children, she would not have so eagerly jumped in the Lorathi's bed, or she would have prepared herself some tansy tea after each of their highs together. But it was nothing to imagine having children and actually feeling one grow in her.

 

But she had not had much time to grow accustomed to that strange and new feeling. Soon they had reached King's Landing, and she had been faced with more imminent problems, including the potential death of the father of this child, along with her brother's, and the Hound's, and all the people who were here fighting for her freedom. She had felt selfish for half a second. They were all here risking their lives and the fate of their people and family, for the sake of little her. Of course they were also fighting for little Rhaenna to eventually retake her throne, but what did a babe care about that twisted seat of steel?

 

But then she had thought that they were also fighting for this soon to be born child. Who knows what might have happened to him should she have been sent off to be Queen with no trial? She could not allow anyone to hurt him, should they discover his parentage if she ever married that black-crowned bastard. And even if his parentage was never discovered, she already felt like he was like her. He would not like growing up in a palace, be a slave to his fate. Maybe he would have liked to be a prince, marry the fairest maiden in the kingdom and rule over that miserable piece of land. But she rather let him choose his way, just like she had been somewhat able to choose for herself.

 

As they had passed the gates of this city she hated, with it's beige walls and it's smell of piss and hunger, there was only one thing that mattered to her: keep them all safe. Including the one she was nurturing in her belly, even if her mind didn't manage to make sense out of this sudden love she felt towards a child not even born yet.

 

 

Two little nights in the Maidenvault had been more than enough already. Unlike before, when she was Gendry's betrothed, the servant girls were not so eager to gush with her. Maybe they learned the lesson since last time, she had thought at first. But all of their faces were different, and despite her incredible memory for features, there was not one she could recognize. They brushed her hair and served her dinner and changed her sheets, without a shadow of a smile or a sparkle of life in their eyes. Arya had wondered if the harsh winter had been doing that to them, sucking out the warmth and the joy. But the winter in King's landing was too sweet for that. Maybe it was just a solemn time in King's Landing. After the death of so many monarchs, the people probably felt tired and hopeless.

 

Arya was wrapped up in a gray dress and a furry cloak, too expensive to be comfortable yet too simple to be called beautiful, and large enough to hide her swollen shape.

 

The morning of the trial was quiet. She had had no appetite, despite the fact that she was eating for two. She had been taken to the old Dragonpit in a wooden wheelhouse, with black curtains to hide her from the swarming and freezing population of King's Landing on her way.

 

Guards escorted her to sit in a pavilion, next to Lord Estermont and that young bastard ought to be her betrothed. Or not. She took her seat next to them without a word, not even a respectful bow of her head. The only thing she wanted to do was spit at them and flee this place on Rhaegal's back, along with Jaqen and Jon and the Hound and all of the northerners who had been crazy enough to come to this place.

 

Edric Storm, or Baratheon, according to the recent events, had the face of a babe, and he was shivering in his garments. The high lords had made sure to have him cleaned up and dressed up in fancy clothes, but somehow he still looked like every orphan child in this desperately huge city, with mud on their faces and innocence in their eyes.

 

He looked lost, and threw her an awkward look as she arrived. Truly, Arya had not known if she should throw him a cold glance or an empathic smile. He looked as confused and unwilling to take the throne as she did.

 

It looked like all the people of King's Landing had been packed up and squeezed together to fill all the seats of the crumbly Dragonpit. Arya could not recall ever seeing so many people. The last time she had seen such a crowd eager for blood and death had been for her father's execution.

 

She thought back about that day. The sun had been shining bright, and the warmth had been sticky and stifling. And she had been a little girl, passing off as a boy, hiding behind Baelor's statue.

 

Ten years ago, it had been. And now she was in King's Landing again, yet this time, the trial was about her fate. The sky was white and raw, and everyone looked like the ghost of themselves.

 

They waited, for what felt like forever, but really it was less than an hour. A chair had never felt so uncomfortable, and the trial had not started yet that Arya already felt pain in her back. She did not find the will to blame the babe in her belly, but she did notice how her body had already begun to change to make room for him. She found it strange, in a way, she thought as her eyes were fixated on the empty pit before her, waiting for the champions to stroll in and the trial to begin.

 

_There is a child growing in me_ , she marveled inside.

_My child, and Jaqen's_ , she thought about his face again, about that sly grin that infuriated her and his riddles that seemed like they would forever draw her to him. She was afraid, for the world that they would welcome this child in, for all that a babe cost. Would her current life be done once she'd hold that child in her arms? She was already giving up her body for him, but she figured she probably wouldn't be able to train for quite some time either, and this whole idea of parenting and raising an infant scared her to death, because she had no idea how it was supposed to be done. Yet the thought that Jaqen would be there along the way appeased her, and she was not so afraid anymore.

 

Had she thought about being pregnant with this man's baby a few years from now, she would have probably burst into laughing. Truly, who could have expected it? Had he? He seemed like he always played his tricks on her, but had he planned this all along? _Surely not, how could he have?_ The reasonable Arya intervened inside. So why did he always seem so sure when his eyes were on her?

 

_All will be well_ , she told herself. She was sure too, when it came to this man. She was sure it would be alright, because he would be there.

 

The crowd's cheers interrupted her internal dialogue. Lord Estermont stood, a raised a hand to hush his people.

 

“The fate of our Kingdoms will be decided on this afternoon.”, he began. He was old and gray, but his voice was surprisingly strong.

“On my right sits Edric Baratheon, lawful heir to the throne. On my left sits lady Arya Stark of Winterfell. Both have seven champions fighting for them. Should lord Edric's champions win the fight, the North and the South shall become allies through a marriage, and the northern kingdom shall retrieve is right place, as a ward of the South.”

He looked at Arya, and for a brief instant, she believed she saw a flicker of a mischievous grin on his face. A weird feeling took hold of her guts. _Fear_. _All will be well_ , she convinced herself once more. She frowned and held his gaze.

“Should lady Arya's champions win, the North shall keep it's independence, and remain a Kingdom of it's own. And we shall name the Dragon Queen's daughter as heir to the Iron throne.”

 

The crowed was surprinsingly silent. Arya expected them to boo or cheer at their King's words, but no one dared a sound. Maybe they didn't know who they should cheer or boo for. The Protector of the Realm seemed undisturbed by this lack of reaction. He raised both his hands to invite everyone to clap, and a delighted expression sat on his face that the young northerner hated.

 

“And now, we shall present the champions. The lady has the honors.”, he said, smiling to Arya. A smile so fake it made the girl want to punch him hard.

 

Arya stood, and looked down at the sandy pit. A few seconds later, Jon strode in in a heavy chainmail and sturdy armor, his Valyrian sword at his belt, ready to be unsheathed anytime. A guard next to her yelled the names of her champions as they entered.

 

_Jon Snow!_ , he called, and the not a single soul in the crowd made a sound as he entered and stood before the pavilion.

 

She gritted her teeth when the southern soldier did not call him King Jon. He was perhaps not his King, but he was a King nonetheless.

 

_Lady Brienne of Tarth!_

 

The woman Knight towered over her brother, and wore similar garments. She had a Valyrian steel sword too, yet hers looked way lighter and delicate. Arya knew her sword had been forged out of Ice, Eddard Stark's sword. It was poetic, in a way, that her father's sword would be used to defend her freedom, even if it was not her father wielding it.

 

_Tormund Giantsbane!_

 

Someone must have insisted for him to wear an armor as well, and apparently he had only agreed to wear a few bits of steel that would serve to shield some parts of his body, but it looked awfully funny on him. Arya hoped it would not make him too uncomfortable.

 

_Ser Bronn of the Blackwater!_

 

No one had been brave enough to convince the knight to put on an armor too.

 

_Jorah Mormont!_

 

The bear knight had voiced out his intent to die for the dragon queen's heir before, so here he stood too, his shining armor contrasting with the dark expression on his old face.

 

_Uh wait, ser-uh Sandor Clegane!_

 

The Hound entered next to him, unable to be bothered by the formalities of entering one champion at the time. The Hound had never had time for such masquerades, surely he wanted to be back at Winterfell too, and squeeze his own redhead in his arms tight.

 

_Jaqen H- uh Jaqen Heyguard!_ , the southerner called, and Arya rolled her eyes at ow he pronouced the Lorathi's name. She waited to see the man stride in. She had not seen him since their arrival at King's Landing.

 

And at last, in was Jaqen's turn to enter the Dragon pit. He looked calm yet tense. Arya was not able to pinpoint how exactly his expression was unlike the usual, but she felt it. He understood the stakes of all of this. He wore bits of armor too, carefully picked to not restrain any single move. He had chosen and essosi weapon to fight, with a curved blade, and a cutthroat at his hips. The cutthroat that Bran had offered her. She had insisted that he take it with him. This way, she would also somehow be part of this fight, despite the fact that she would just sit here and watch them all fight and die inside every second of this insanity.

 

He held up his bronze eyes, and his red and white hair caught the few rays of the sun, making it glow like a crown of ice and fire.

 

_All will be well_ , she wised he could hear her. She put her gloved hand on her lower belly delicately, a move that did not go unnoticed by the man. A corner of his mouth lifted up ever so slightly, only for her to see.

 

The southern champions entered too, one by one, and Arya did not bother to remember their names. She analyzed the way they moved, the way they carried their weapons, and what weapons they carried. The first two ones looked way too young to fight properly. Good. They'll make short work of these two. The third and fourth to enter wete slightly larger, and had chosen spears to fight. A terrible choice, she thought, a corner of her mouth lifting up. Maybe this would go as planned, and she would be back at Winterfell tomorrow. The fifth and sixth soldiers strode in wit absolutely no eagerness in their eyes. _Mercenaries_ , she thought, eyes drifting to Lord Estermont, hope rising in her like a ray of summer invading winter. She looked at the old man in his fancy cloak of ermine and gold. A cocky smile was on his face, but a cockier was on Arya's. _He's not hoping to win with these fighters, is he? Does he know who he's fighting against? Jon is the best swordsman in Westeros, the others are trained knights, and Bronn and Jaqen have a sneaky way to fight that westerosi can't even keep up with._

 

Feeling her gaze on him, Lord Estermont turned his head, and seeing her grin, bowed is head, and hold up a cup of wine. And as the last southern champion was announced, the young woman lost her arrogance.

 

_Ser Gregor Clegane!_

 

She turned her head to look at the pit, and make sure it was not a joke.

 

But it was not. There it stood, this huge beast of rotten flesh and unbendable steel, two swords heavier than her at his belt, and a huge flail in his hands.

 

The sight was like a punch in her chest.

 

All would not be well.

 

Her heart beat faster, and had the chair not been there she might have sunk into the ground.

 

“This is a trial to death! One side wins once there is no more fighters on the other!”, the yelling guard clarified.

 

All eyes turned to Lord Estermont, who rose his gloved hand, as a sign to start the fight.

 

Arya's eyes were glued to the pit. And the butchery began.

 

The clang of the weapons rose the thrill in her. She forgot about the crowd watching too, she forgot about Lord Estermont's eyes on her, and the lost gaze of Edric Baratheon. Her heart was in her throat, and she stared for so long she forgot to breathe sometimes.

 

Jon moved swiftly, waving his sword here and there. He did not want to kill these boys, she could see it in his eyes. He knocked them to the ground, once then twice then thrice. Bronn was against the mercenaries, and Lady Brienne along with the red Wildling and Jorah Mormont took care of the larger soldiers and their spears. They had trouble to move with their long weapons, and soon enough they ate the dirt of the pit.

 

That left Sandor and Jaqen against that bloody Mountain.

 

She had prayed that he do not choose to fight against him when she had seen the beast stride in, but somehow part of her knew she was going to see them fight anyway. She squeezed the side of her seat.

 

The Mountain had trouble keeping up with his speed, and the Hound acted as a distraction to keep the blows from the Lorathi.

 

_Don't do anything stupid_ , she threatened the man in her thoughts.

_Or I'll find you in the deepest of the Seven Hells and make it even worse for you_

 

The flail spun and her heart stopped. Had that stupid Lorathi stood an inch further on the right, his pretty face would be no more.

 

She was surprised when she felt tears well up in her eyes. No tears of sadness, tears of fear.

 

_Please_ , she begged to all the Gods she knew, even the Red God whom she had betrayed more than once.

_Don't take him away, please_

 

And it was all she could do. Pray and watch.

 

The Hound plunged forward and missed the flank of his brother. He was boiling with rage, and roared after he stumbled. Jaqen played it sneaky, only poking the Mountain here and there.The look on his face was strange. He was both determined and calm.

 

_This is not a game_ , she hoped he could hear her.

_Please, don't play_

 

Unconsciously, her hands found her belly again, and for a second she swore she felt something move in her guts. Her breath was short, as if she were fighting along them. Yet her battle was in her mind.

 

A cold sound of steel rang, and the crowd cheered. Arya looked away from the fight between the three men to see Jorah Mormont knocked to the ground, spear piercing through his throat. The chocking sounds of the assembly were a tangle of horror and sick admiration. Brienne screamed and wielded her Valyrian sword towards the man who just killed the Bear Knight. Three moves and he was strangling in his own blood. The Lady Knight did not get the time to clean her steel, the other spear holder was after her. Tormund stopped him before he could slash across her face.

 

Another thud and this time it was Jaqen who hit the ground. She stood up, surprising the crowd like a struck of lightning, but she didn't even see the surprise on their faces.

 

The Mountain towered over the Lorathi, his movements slow and brutal. He knocked the flail towards him, the spikes pierced the mud. He missed twice. The third time he slashed through his left arm, and Arya squealed in fear, seeing crimson taint his sleeve. She never heard Jaqen cry however, as close as she was to the pit. She could almost smell the blood of the spear-men and the large soldiers stirring her insides, making her want to puke.

 

Jaqen sprung to his feet before he was hit again. The Hound balanced his heavy sword and rang the head of his undead brother under his golden helmet. The thing fell to the ground, and his ugly face was revealed, tearing a horrified gasp from the crowd.

 

His skin was a dirty blue, mingled with an awful blood-red that invaded the white of his eyes. He looked like a rotten pig, and his lips were gray and sealed. The crowd fell silent, and the tension weighed on all the eyebrows.

 

The Mountain grunted and took heavy steps towards both his enemies. On one side his younger brother did his best to dodge the strikes, wielding his sword with difficulty in hopes to touch him. On the other, the Lorathi danced, eagerness in his eyes, determined to end this nonsense. A little voice whispered in Arya's ear that he was thinking of their son.

 

The Hound stood behind his huge brother now, Jaqen in front. And before the beast had a chance to plunge forward and crush the redhead under him, a dagger pierced under his chin. He reached his monstrous hands to grab the sly man's neck, but a sword slashed through his skull.

 

Only when his limp body hit the ground in a loud thud did Arya allow herself to breathe.

 

The crowd stayed dead silent.

 

Both the spears-mean laid dead on the ground too. Bronn was finishing off the second mercenary, and when the Hound had gotten his revenge over his brother, he went over to help him.

 

One of the young southern boys had gotten a strike from Tormund Giantsbane, and was now on the dirt with his eyes and his chest wide open. Jaqen stood a little farther, observing and breathing heavy. He held his arm to restrain the blood from flowing out of him.

 

_Only one left,_ Arya counted.

_One southerner left, and they'd all be free to go home._

 

They had won.

 

Only the second southerner boy was left, fighting against Jon. He didn't stand a chance. He was backing away at each of the King's strikes, with fear more than evident on his face. The ther northerners champions didn't join the fight, settling on keeping it somewhat even, even if Jon was the best swordsman in the seven Kingdoms.

 

_Come on_ , she thought.

_One hole well placed, and we're off_ , she implored her brother.

 

But Jon kept on with his inoffensive blows. The boy had trouble to counter, but he countered anyway.

 

He looked like he was training.

 

_Come on Jon_

 

The crowd cheered when the southerner stumbled n his own feet. They _cheered_. They wanted the Northerners to win, Arya realized.

 

Jon raised his sword, one move away from ending it all.

 

The look on his face was odd, and before he could land that finishing blow, his eyes grew sad.

 

*

 

Jon Snow looked the young man in the eyes, and only saw fear.

 

He lowered Longclaw.

 

“Enough!”, the King in the North yelled.

 

He took a step back. The man on the ground looked startled, and didn't dare to move first. But when Jon was far enough, he sprang to his feet and ran away.

 

Jon looked around him, at the men he had took in this folly, and the crowd who had cheered at every of their moves like they were watching a mummer's show.

 

“I've had enough of fighting!”, he shouted, and no one dared to interrupt him.

 

“I have fought my entire life! To defend my home, my family, all of Westeros. I fought against men and women, I fought against walking dead corpses, I fought against dragons.”, he brought his gaze up to the pavilion. He looked at his little sister, who had nothing to do up here. He looked at these old lords, shuffled up in fancy furs and jewelery.

 

“While you were sitting there, readying your boats for when this city would be taken over by cold and death.”, his gaze was accusing, and he tightened his hold on Longclaw.

 

“What of all of these people? I see men and women, boys and girls, babes and mothers here in the crowd. King's Landing alone has over half a million of inhabitants, what would have happened to all of them had the Night King taken over?”

 

He turned his shoulders to completely face them now. They looked dumbfounded. They rumbled around, trying to get guards to make him shut up, but the guards refused to answer their calls.

 

“I may be a bastard, -”, he said, closing his eyes. It was not true, but this, he would never tell the people of King's Landing.

“But my people named me their King because I would do anything to protect them.”

He took a deep breath in and looked at the sky. The white clouds made him think of Daenera.

 

“Tell me-”, he addressed to the crowd, which had been dead quiet for a while.

“Who do you want to be your ruler?”

 

He pointed Longclaw towards Lord Estermont.

 

“Old Lords with nothing to their value as Kings but their wish for power and fame?”

 

He lowered his weapon, and the lilac eyes of his daughter came to his mind.

 

“Or the truthful heir to the Iron throne, the daughter of a conqueror who freed millions of slaves across the Narrow See, and united forces to defend all of you?”

 

When he finished he was out of breath, and the crowd was still silent. Only a gust of wind howled far away, and for a minute, no one dared to speak. He looked around, anxious. He had never seen so many people so quiet.

 

Finally, a man stood. He was a guard. He removed his helmet and revealed the face of a green boy.

 

“I shall never fight again for a ruler who would not fight for me.”, he said in a shaky voice.

 

He unlatched the strands that held his armor together, and the yellow and black painted suit collided to the sandy ground with a metallic thud. He looked nervous but sure.

 

He unsheathed his sword, and brandished it toward the sky.

 

“Long live King Jon!”

 

For another second, there was silence.

 

And another soldier unsheathed his sword and joined the call.

 

“Long live King Jon!”

 

Half of the assembly stood up and took part in.

 

“Long live King Jon!”, they called fiercely.

 

“Long live King Jon! Long live King Jon!”, they shouted, more and more voices joining in each time, until the whole of King's Landing was just one loud and united cry.

 

_Long live King Jon_

 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO... what did you think? Tell me in the comments! :D
> 
> Last chapter will be there before Christmas. It's almost done now. It will be rather short though, just the little cherry on top :)


	29. Promise of Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one day late! Haha, I hope you guys had a lovely christmas :) This is a very short, very last chapter, enjoy!

 

She brushed the sweat off her forehead. Some strands of auburn hair clang to her but she paid them no mind.

 

“Try again.”, she heard.

 

She grinned, flexed her arm again, and focused. She had to shoot in the center of the aim at least once. That was her goal for the day.

 

Mother didn't like that she learned archery, but Father had nodded his approval and she had been so happy that her aunt had been willing to teach her that Mother had not been able to restrain her eagerness.

 

She breathed the cold air in, and shot.

 

_Fuuush_

 

The arrow pierced right through the bull's eye and she couldn't help but squeal in joy.

 

Her aunt bowed her head and looked contempt. But it wasn't until she heard a clap from the balcony that she felt truly accomplished. She lifted her head and saw her mother's gentle eyes on her, a powerful smile on her face, and she felt the pride burst in her.

 

Light snowflakes fell from the sky. So light they melted as soon as they landed on her face.

 

Winter was coming to an end. Catlyn had never known spring.

 

People around Winterfell always said that this winter had been the toughest in a thousand years, and that children born in this season would accomplish great things for they already knew what roughness is. Like princess Rhaenna Targaryen, the daughter of King Jon, who would someday sit on the Iron Throne and rule over the South. They say the world shall not know any wars under her reign, that her parents have battled enough to keep the peace in Westeros and in Essos for five generations.

 

Catlyn would always ask old Nan to tell her stories about Rhaenna's parents. She loved old Nan's stories, like all the other children. She, her sisters and her cousins would always sit on the ground for hours while listening to her tales when their parents had no time to worry about them. They loved to listen about the Queen Daenerys, Khaleesi of the Dothraki, freer of the Unsullied, the first hatcher of Dragons in centuries. They would ask the old woman about Princess Rhaenna's father too, about the man who united the seven crowns to defeat the Others, who had risked his life to bring the Wildlings on the safe side, he who had been named King in the North once, before his sister the Queen Sansa sat on the Cold Throne.

 

Winter had been frigid and still. The unmoving death, the world in a state of slumber. Cat had never known anything but the hushed crunch of the snow under her boots, the rare hours of cold light gawking through the heavy clouds that the long and dark nights allowed when the Gods were clement.

 

They say Spring feels like a kiss one your cheek, a soft whisper of warmth and life. They say the trees bloom and people smile when the sun rises. The fields get filled with green and joy, and the winds wake the forests. They say the days last longer and taste like promises.

 

And Summer, ah, what they say about summer. They say it is fever in a song, a swirl of heat and drunkenness.

 

Cat was the eldest after her cousin Ned, but they were only eleven, they did not know. Old Nan had known all the seasons, but old Nan could not always remember everything.

 

Ned was her best friend. He had red hair too. Not the same red as her, but because they spent all of their time together, people around the castle would always call them the twins kissed by fire.

 

Sometimes she found herself thinking that she would have liked being his sister, better than she liked being the sister of her actual sisters. All of them liked dresses and embroidery, when she liked riding and fighting. But her aunt had told her once that even if they may be as different as the sun and moon, that the same blood flew through all of their hearts, and that family is cherished.

 

She loved aunt Arya.

 

One night, when Mother and Father were too busy with the matters of the realm, the little Cat had sneaked in Ned's chamber to tell him a scary story she had heard. Aunt Arya and Uncle Jaqen had found them, but rather than dismissing her to her own chambers, they had sat with them and laughed to her story. They had recounted another after that, about a Queen named Nymeria, to put them to sleep, just like when they were young children.

 

Her aunt and uncle had known Summer, as well as Fall and Winter. They had known the warmth, and sometimes they recounted the young ones what it felt like to have the sun bathing your cheeks and fill you to the bones. They had said that summer in Essos was even warmer, like a swirl of light. Ned and Cat had never left Winterfell, Mother was Queen and Aunt Arya was her Hand, they could not leave and travel so easily.

 

But on this night, Arya and Jaqen had promised the children that someday, they would travel South together, to the capital, so they could all see the spring sun set behind the Narrow sea. They promised to show them the Red Keep, the Iron Throne, the blackened dragon skulls in the Throne Room that look like monsters.

 

Cat could hardly restrain her excitement when she dreamed about these, about the red stones of the keep, the liveliness of the capital, the Dragons flying above. She had seen Rhaegal when uncle Jon had come to visit a few years ago, but never had she seen the huge black and red Drogon, or the biggest of all, the pure and white Daenera.

 

Someday she would see them for real, she had made a promise to herself, she who had heard songs about the Great Battle since the time he was at her mother's teat.

 

And then aunt Arya and uncle Jaqen had promised that they would travel to Braavos too someday, toss a coin in the canals and find a ship there, to figure out what was west of Westeros.

 

They had kissed after that, and Ned had thrown Cat a sly grin.

 

 

THE END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *holds her breath*
> 
> *bows*
> 
>  
> 
> Well... I really, really hope you enjoyed this story! When I first started writing it it was my very first work, I had no idea where it was going, it was just this stupid little thing I was secretly doing on the side of my studies. Now a little more than a year later so many things changed in my life, and I think it's not exagerated to say that writing had a little something to do with it. 
> 
> I want to thank all of you who took the time to read my work, and all of you who took the time to show support by leaving kudos or comments. You have no idea how it boosted my self-confidence. I am a bit sad that it's over now, but I'm so proud to have finished it. So thank you, thank you so much for encourgaing me to push my limits :)


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